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INIVERSITY   OF   CALIFORNIA          LIBRARY    OF   THE    UNIVERSITY   OF    CALIFORN 


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GUIFORN 


THE  DEAD  SECRET; 


Noocl. 


BY  WILKIE   COLLINS, 


AUTHOR  OF 


"THE  WOMAN   IN  WHITE,"   "POOR  MISS   FINCH,"   "NO  NAME,' 
'MAN  AND  WIFE,"   "THE   MOONSTONE,"  &c. 


WITH 


NEW    YORK: 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    PUBLISHERS, 

FRANKLIN     SQUARE. 
1874. 


WlLKIE  COLLINS'S  NOVELS. 


HARPER'S  ILLUSTRATED  LIBRARY  EDITION, 

12mo,  Cloth,  $1  50  per  Volume. 

ARM  AD  ALE.  MAN  AND  WIFE. 

BASIL.  POOR  MISS  FINCH. 

HIDE-AND-SR3F,'  ,  •  TTIE'MOONSTONE. 

•  '•  *  °    *..'", 

THE  NEW  MAG&A'LEN.  *    -THE' WOMAN  IN  WHITE. 

NO  NAME.        (  .      ....        .  THE  DEAD  SECRET. 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1873,  by 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS, 

In  the  Office  of  the   Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


l  N 


95S443 


THE    DEAD    SECRET. 


BOOK    I. 
CHAPTER  I. 

THE    TWENTY-THIRD    OP    AUGUST,  1829. 

"  WILL  she  last  out  the  night,  I  wonder  ?" 

"  Look  at  the  clock,  Mathew." 

"Ten  minutes  past  twelve  !  She  has  lasted  the  night  out. 
She  has  lived,  Robert,  to  see  ten  minutes  of  the  new  day." 

These  words  were  spoken  in  the  kitchen  of  a  large  country- 
house  situated  on  the  west  coast  of  Cornwall.  The  speakers 
were  two  of  the  men-servants  composing  the  establishment 
of  Captain  Treverton,  an  officer  in  the  navy,  and  the  eldest 
male  representative  of  an  old  Cornish  family.  Both  the 
servants  communicated  with  each  other  restrainedly,  in  whis 
pers — sitting  close  together,  and  looking  round  expectantly 
toward  the  door  whenever  the  talk  flagged  between  them. 

"  It's  an  awful  thing,"  said  the  elder  of  the  men,  "  for  us 
two  to  be  alone  here,  at  this  dark  time,  counting  out  the 
minutes  that  our  mistress  has  left  to  live  !" 

"  Robert,"  said  the  other,  "  you  have  been  in  the  service 
here  since  you  were  a  boy — did  you  ever  hear  that  our  mis 
tress  was  a  play-actress  when  our  master  married  her  ?" 

"How  came  you  to  know  that?"  inquired  the  elder  serv 
ant,  sharply. 

"Hush !"  cried  the  other,  rising  quickly  from  his  chair. 

A  bell  rang  in  the  passage  outside. 

"Is  that  for  one  of  us?"  asked  Mathew. 

"  Can't  you  tell,  by  the  sound,  which  is  which  of  those 
bells  yet  ?"  exclaimed  Robert,  contemptuously.  "  That  bell 
is  for  Sarah  Leeson.  Go  out  into  the  passage  and  look." 

A2 


8  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

The  younger  servant  took  a  candle  and  obeyed.  When 
he  opened  the  kitchen-door,  a  long  row  of  bells  met  his  eye 
on  the  wall  opposite.  Above  each  of  them  was  painted,  in 
neat  black  letters,  the  distinguishing  title  of  the  servant 
whom  it  was  specially  intended  to  summon.  The  row  of 
letters  began  with  Housekeeper  and  Butler,  and  ended  with 
Kitchen-maid  and  Footman's  Boy. 

Looking  along  the  bells,  Mathew  easily  discovered  that 
one  of  them  was  still  in  motion.  Above  it  were  the  words 
Lady's-Maid.  Observing  this,  he  passed  quickly  along  the 
passage,  and  knocked  at  an  old-fashioned  oak  door  at  the 
end  of  it.  No  answer  being  given,  he  opened  the  door  and 
looked  into  the  room.  It  was  dark  and  empty. 

"Sarah  is  not  in  the  housekeeper's  room,"  said  Mathew, 
returning  to  his  fellow-servant  in  the  kitchen. 

"  She  is  gone  to  her  own  room,  then,"  rejoined  the  other. 
"  Go  up  and  tell  her  that  she  ft  wanted  by  her  mistress." 

The  bell  rang  again  as  Mathew  went  out. 

"  Quick ! — quick  !"  cried  Robert.  "  Tell  her  she  is  wanted 
directly.  Wanted,"  he  continued  to  himself  in  lower  tones, 
"perhaps  for  the  last  time  !" 

Mathew  ascended  three  flights  of  stairs — passed  half-way 
down  a  long  arched  gallery — and  knocked  at  another  old- 
fashioned  oak  door.  This  time  the  signal  was  answered.  A 
low,  clear,  sweet  voice,  inside  the  room,  inquired  who  was 
waiting  without?  In  a  few  hasty  words  Mathew  told  his 
errand.  Before  he  had  done  speaking  the  door  was  quietly 
and  quickly  opened,  and  Sarah  Leeson  confronted  him  on  the 
threshold,  with  her  candle  in  her  hand. 

Not  tall,  not  handsome,  not  in  her  first  youth — shy  and 
irresolute  in  manner — simple  in  dress  to  the  utmost  limits 
of  plainness — the  lady's-maid,  in  spite  of  all  these  disadvan 
tages,  was  a  woman  whom  it  was  impossible  to  look  at  with 
out  a  feeling  of  curiosity,  if  not  of  interest.  Few  men,  at 
first  sight  of  her,  could  have  resisted  the  desire  to  find  out 
who  she  was ;  few  would  have  been  satisfied  with  receiving 
for  answer,  She  is  Mrs.  Treverton's  maid ;  few  would  have 
refrained  from  the  attempt  to  extract  some  secret  informa 
tion  for  themselves  from  her  face  and  manner;  and  none, 
not  even  the  most  patient  and  practiced  of  observers,  could 
have  succeeded  in  discovering  more  than  that  she  must  have 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  9 

passed  through  the  ordeal  of  some  great  suffering  at  some 
former  period  of  her  life.  Much  in  her  manner,  and  more  in 
her  face,  said  plainly  and  sadlyj  I  am  the  wreck  of  some- 
thing  that  you  might  once  have  liked  to  SPP  •  n,  wm'k  that 
call  never  be  repaired — that  must  drift  on  through  life  unno-. 
'ticect,  ungmdecU  unpiued — driit  till  the  fatal  shore  is  touched, 
and  the  waves  of  Time  have  swallowed  up  these  broken 
relics  of  me  forever]  This  was  the  story  that  was  told  in 
Sarah  Leeson's  facie" — this,  and  no  more. 

No  two  men  interpreting  that  story  for  themselves,  would 
probably  have  agreed  on  the  nature  of  the  suffering  which 
this  woman  had  undergone.  It  was  hard  to  say,  at  the  out 
set,  whether  the  past  pain  that  had  set  its  ineffaceable  mark 
on  her  had  been  pain  of  the  body  or  pain  of  the  mind.  But 
whatever  the  nature  of  the  affliction  she  had  suffered,  the 
traces  it  had  left  were  deeply  and  strikingly  visible  in  every 
part  of  her  face. 

Her  cheeks  had  lost  their  roundness  and  their  natural 
color;  her  lips,  singularly  flexible  in  movement  and  delicate 
in  form,  had  faded  to  an  unhealthy  paleness ;  her  eyes,  large 
and  black  and  overshadowed  by  unusually  thick  lashes,  had 
contracted  an  anxious  startled  look,  which  never  left  them, 
and  which  piteously  expressed  the  painful  acuteness  of  her 
sensibility,  the  inherent  timidity  of  her  disposition.  So  far, 
the  marks  which  sorrow  or  sickness  had  set  on  her  were  the 
marks  common  to  most  victims  of  mental  or  physical  suffer 
ing.  The  one  extraordinary  personal  deterioration  which 
she  had  undergone  consisted  in  the  unnatural  change  that 
had  passed  over  the  color  of  her  hair.  It  wras  as  thick  and 
soft,  it  grew  as  gracefully,  as  the  hair  of  a  young  girl ;  but 
it  was  as  gray  as  the  hair  of  an  old  woman.  It  seemed  to 
contradict,  in  the  most  startling  manner,  every  personal  as 
sertion  of  youth  that  still  existed  in  her  face.  With  all  its 
haggardness  and  paleness,  no  one  could  have  looked  at  it  and 
supposed  for  a  moment  that  it  was  the  face  of  an  elderly 
woman.  Wan  as  they  might  be,  there  was  not  a  wrinkle  in 
her  cheeks.  Her  eyes,  viewed  apart  from  their  prevailing 
expression  of  uneasiness  and  timidity,  still  preserved  that 
bright,  clear  moisture  which  is  never  seen  in  the  eyes  of  the 
old.  The  skin  about  her  temples  was  as  delicately  smooth 
us  the  skin  of  a  child.  These  and  other  physical  signs  which 


10  THE    DEAD    SECKET. 

never  mislead,  showed  that  she  was  still,  as  to  years,  in  the 
very  prime  of  her  life.  Sickly  and  sorrow-stricken  as  she 
was,  she  looked,  from  the  eyes  downward,  a  woman  who  had 
barely  reached  thirty  years  of  age.  From  the  eyes  upward, 
the  effect  of  her  abundant  gray  hair,  seen  in  connection  with 
her  face,  was  not  simply  incongruous  —  it  was  .absolutely 
startling ;  so  startling  as  to  make  it  no  paradox  to  say  that 
she  would  have  looked  most  natural,  most  like  herself,  if  her 
hair  had  been  dyed.  In  her  case,  Art  would  have  seemed 
to  be  the  truth,  because  Nature  looked  like  falsehood. 

What  shock  had  stricken  her  hair,  in  the  very  maturity  of 
its  luxuriance,  with  the  hue  of  an  unnatural  old  age  ?  Was 
it  a  serious  illness,  or  a  dreadful  grief,  that  had  turned  her 
gray  in  the  prime  of  her  womanhood  ?  That  question  had 
often  been  agitated  among  her  fellow-servants,  who  were  all 
struck  by  the  peculiarities  of  her  personal  appearance,  and 
rendered  a  little  suspicious  of  her,  as  well,  by  an  inveterate 
habit  that  she  had  of  talking  to  herself.  Inquire  as  they 
might,  however,  their  curiosity  was  always  baffled.  Noth 
ing  more  could  be  discovered  than  that  Sarah  Leeson  was, 
in  the  common  phrase,  touchy  on  the  subject  of  her  gray 
hair  and  her  habit  of  talking  to  herself,  and  that  Sarah  Lee- 
son's  mistress  had  long  since  forbidden  every  one,  from  her 
husband  downward,  to  ruffle  her  maid's  tranquillity  by  in 
quisitive  questions. 

She  stood  for  an  instant  speechless,  on  that  momentous 
morning  of  the  twenty-third  of  August,  before  the  servant 
who  summoned  her  to  her  mistress's  death-bed — the  light  of 
the  candle  flaring  brightly  over  her  large,  startled,  black 
eyes,  and  the  luxuriant,  unnatural  gray  hair  above  them. 
She  stood  a  moment  silent — her  hand  trembling  while  she 
held  the  candlestick,  so  that  the  extinguisher  lying  loose  in 
it  rattled  incessantly — then  thanked  the  servant  for  calling 
her.  The  trouble  and  fear  in  her  voice,  as  she  spoke,  seemed 
to  add  to  its  sweetness ;  the  agitation  of  her  manner  took 
nothing  away  from  its  habitual  gentleness,  its  delicate,  win 
ning,  feminine  restraint.  Mathew,  who,  like  the  other  serv 
ants,  secretly  distrusted  and  disliked  her  for  differing  from 
the  ordinary  pattern  of  professed  lady's-maids,  was,  on  this 
particular  occasion,  so  subdued  by  her  manner  and  her  tone 
as  she  thanked  him,  that  he  offered  to  carry  her  candle  for 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  11 

her  to  the  door  of  her  mistress's  bed-chamber.  She  shook 
her  head,  and  thanked  him  again,  then  passed  before  him 
quickly  on  her  way  out  of  the  gallery. 

The  room  in  which  Mrs.  Treverton  lay  dying  was  on  the 
floor  beneath.  Sarah  hesitated  twice  before  she  knocked  at 
the  door.  It  was  opened  by  Captain  Treverton. 

The  instant  she  saw  her  master  she  started  back  from  him. 
If  she  had  dreaded  a  blow  she  could  hardly  have  drawn 
away  more  suddenly,  or  with  an  expression  of  greater  alarm. 
There  was  nothing  in  Captain  Treverton's  face  to  warrant 
the  suspicion  of  ill-treatment,  or  even  of  harsh  words.  His 
countenance  was  kind,  hearty,  and  open ;  and  the  tears  were 
still  trickling  down  it  which  he  had  shed  by  his  wife's  bed 
side. 

"  Go  in,"  he  said,  turning  away  his  face.  "  She  does  not 
wish  the  nurse  to  attend ;  she  only  wishes  for  you.  Call  me 
if  the  doctor — "  His  voice  faltered,  and  he  hurried  away 
without  attempting  to  finish  the  sentence. 

Sarah  Leeson,  instead  of  entering  her  mistress's  room,  stood 
looking  after  her  master  attentively,  with  her  pale  cheeks 
turned  to  a  deathly  whiteness  —  with  an  eager,  doubting, 
questioning  terror  in  her  eyes.  When  he  had  disappeared 
round  the  corner  of  the  gallery,  she  listened  for  a  moment 
outside  the  door  of  the  sick-room — whispered  affrightedly  to 
herself,  "  Can  she  have  told  him  ?" — then  opened  the  door, 
with  a  visible  effort  to  recover  her  self-control ;  and,  after  lin 
gering  suspiciously  on  the  threshold  for  a  moment,  went  in. 

Mrs.  Treverton's  bed-chamber  was  a  large,  lofty  room,  sit 
uated  in  the  western  front  of  the  house,  and  consequently 
overlooking  the  sea-view.  The  night-light  burning  by  the 
bedside  displayed  rather  than  dispelled  the  darkness  in  the 
corners  of  the  room.  The  bed  was  of  the  old-fashioned  pat 
tern,  with  heavy  hangings  and  thick  curtains  drawn  all 
round  it.  Of  the  other  objects  in  the  chamber,  only  those  of 
the  largest  and  most  solid  kind  were  prominent  enough  to  be 
tolerably  visible  in  the  dim  light.  The  cabinets,  the  ward 
robe,  the  full-length  looking-glass,  the  high-backed  arm-chair, 
these,  with  the  great  shapeless  bulk  of  the  bed  itself,  towered 
up  heavily  and  gloomily  into  view.  Other  objects  were  all 
merged  together  in  the  general  obscurity.  Through  the  open 
window,  opened  to  admit  the  fresh  air  of  the  new  morning 


12  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

after  the  sultriness  of  the  August  night,  there  poured  mo 
notonously  into  the  room  the  dull,  still,  distant  roaring  of 
the  surf  on  the  sandy  coast.  All  outer  noises  were  hushed  at 
that  first  dark  hour  of  the  new  day.  Inside  the  room  the 
one  audible  sound  was  the  slow,  toilsome  breathing  of  the 
dying  woman,  raising  itself  in  its  mortal  frailness,  awfully 
and  distinctly,  even  through  the  far  thunder-breathing  from 
the  bosom  of  the  everlasting  sea. 

"  Mistress,"  said  Sarah  Leeson,  standing  close  to  the  cur 
tains,  but  not  withdrawing  them,  "  my  master  has  left  the 
room,  and  has  sent  me  here  in  his  place." 

"  Light ! — give  me  more  light." 

The  feebleness  of  mortal  sickness  was  in  the  voice ;  but  the 
accent  of  the  speaker  sounded  resolute  even  yet — doubly 
resolute  by  contrast  with  the  hesitation  of  the  tones  in  which 
Sarah  had  spoken.  The  strong  nature  of  the  mistress  and 
the  weak  nature  of  the  maid  came  out,  even  in  that  short  in 
terchange  of  words  spoken  through  the  curtain  of  a  death 
bed. 

Sarah  lit  two  candles  with  a  wavering  hand — placed  them 
hesitatingly  on  a  table  by  the  bedside — waited  for  a  moment, 
looking  all  round  her  with  suspicious  timidity — then  undrew 
the  curtains. 

The  disease  of  which  Mrs.  Treverton  was  dying  was  one 
of  the  most  terrible  of  all  the  maladies  that  afflict  humanity, 
one  to  which  women  are  especially  subject,  and  one  which 
undermines  life  without,  in  most  cases,  showing  any  remark 
able  traces  of  its  corroding  progress  in  the  face.  No  unin- 
structed  person,  looking  at  Mrs.  Treverton  when  her  attend 
ant  undrew  the  bed-curtain,  could  possibly  have  imagined 
that  she  was  past  all  help  that  mortal  skill  could  offer  to  her. 
The  slight  marks  of  illness  in  her  face,  the  inevitable  changes 
in  the  grace  and  roundness  of  its  outline,  were  rendered 
hardly  noticeable  by  the  marvelous  preservation  of  her  com 
plexion  in  all  the  light  and  delicacy  of  its  first  girlish  beauty. 
There  lay  her  face  on  the  pillow — tenderly  framed  in  by  the 
rich  lace  of  her  cap,  softly  crowned  by  her  shining  brown 
hair — to  all  outward  appearance,  the  face  of  a  beautiful  wom 
an  recovering  from  a  slight  illness,  or  reposing  after  unusual 
fatigue.  Even  Sarah  Leeson,  who  had  watched  her  all 
through  her  malady,  could  hardly  believe,  as  she  looked  at 


THE    DEAD    SECKET.  13 

her  mistress,  that  the  Gates  of  Life  had  closed  behind  her,  and 
that  the  beckoning  hand  of  Death  was  signing  to  her  already 
from  the  Gates  of  the  Grave. 

Some  dog's-eared  books  in  paper  covers  lay  on  the  counter 
pane  of  the  bed.  As  soon  as  the  curtain  was  drawn  aside 
Mrs.  Treverton  ordered  her  attendant  by  a  gesture  to  remove 
them.  They  were  plays,  underscored  in  certain  places  by 
ink  lines,  and  marked  with  marginal  annotations  referring  to 
entrances,  exits,  and  places  on  the  stage.  The  servants,  talk 
ing  down  stairs  of  their  mistress's  occupation  before  her  mar 
riage,  had  not  been  misled  by  false  reports.  Their  master, 
after  he  had  passed  the  prime  of  life,  had,  in  very  truth,  taken 
his  wife  from  the  obscure  stage  of  a  country  theatre,  when 
little  more  than  two  years  had  elapsed  since  her  first  appear 
ance  in  public.  The  dog's-eared  old  plays  had  been  once  her 
treasured  dramatic  library;  she  had  always  retained  a  fond 
ness  for  them  from  old  associations;  and,  during  the  latter 
part  of  her  illness,  they  had  remained  on  her  bed  for  days 
and  days  together. 

Having  put  away  the  plays,  Sarah  went  back  to  her  mis 
tress  ;  and,  with  more  of  dread  and  bewilderment  in  her  face 
than  grief,  opened  her  lips  to  speak.  Mrs.  Treverton  held  up 
her  hand,  as  a  sign  that  she  had  another  order  to  give. 

"  Bolt  the  door,"  she  said,  in  the  same  enfeebled  voice,  but 
with  the  same  accent  of  resolution  which  had  so  strikingly 
marked  her  first  request  to  have  more  light  in  the  room. 
"  Bolt  the  door.  Let  no  one  in,  till  I  give  you  leave." 

"No  one?"  repeated  Sarah,  faintly.  "Not  the  doctor? 
not  even  my  master?" 

"  Not  the  doctor — not  even  your  master,"  said  Mrs.  Trev 
erton,  and  pointed  to  the  door.  The  hand  was  weak ;  but 
even  in  that  momentary  action  of  it  there  was  no  mistaking 
the  gesture  of  command. 

Sarah  bolted  the  door,  returned  irresolutely  to  the  bedside, 
fixed  her  large,  eager,  startled  eyes  inquiringly  on  her  mis 
tress's  face,  and,  suddenly  bending  over  her,  said  in  a  whis 
per: 

"  Have  you  told  my  master  ?" 

"  No,"  was  the  answer.  "  I  sent  for  him,  to  tell  him — I 
tried  hard  to  speak  the  words — it  shook  me  to  my  very  soul, 
only  to  think  how  T  should  best  break  it  to  him — I  am  so 


14  THE    DEAD    SECKET. 

fond  of  him !  I  love  him  so  dearly !  But  I  should  have 
spoken  in  spite  of  that,  if  he  had  not  talked  of  the  child. 
Sarah !  he  did  nothing  but  talk  of  the  child — and  that  si 
lenced  me." 

Sarah,  with  a  forgetfulness  of  her  station  which  might 
have  appeared  extraordinary  even  in  the  eyes  of  the  most 
lenient  of  mistresses,  flung  herself  back  in  a  chair  when  the 
first  word  of  Mrs.  Treverton's  reply  was  uttered,  clasped  her 
trembling  hands  over  her  face,  and  groaned  to  herself,  "  Oh, 
what  will  happen  !  what  will  happen  now  !" 

Mrs.  Treverton's  eyes  had  softened  and  moistened  when  she 
spoke  of  her  love  for  her  husband.  She  lay  silent  for  a  few 
minutes ;  the  working  of  some  strong  emotion  in  her  being 
expressed  by  her  quick,  hard,  labored  breathing,  and  by  the 
painful  contraction  of  her  eyebrows.  Ere  long,  she  turned 
her  head  uneasily  toward  the  chair  in  which  her  attendant 
was  sitting,  and  spoke  again — this  time  in  a  voice  which 
had  sunk  to  a  whisper. 

"  Look  for  my  medicine,"  said  she  ;  "  I  want  it." 

Sarah  started  up,  and  with  the  quick  instinct  of  obedience 
brushed  away  the  tears  that  were  rolling  fast  over  her  cheeks. 

"  The  doctor,"  she  said.     "  Let  me  call  the  doctor." 

"  No  !     The  medicine — look  for  the  medicine." 

"  Which  bottle  ?     The  opiate—" 

"  No.     Not  the  opiate.     The  other." 

Sarah  took  a  bottle  from  the  table,  and  looking  attentively 
at  the  written  direction  on  the  label,  said  that  it  was  not  yet 
time  to  take  that  medicine  again. 

"  Give  me  the  bottle." 

"  Oh,  pray  don't  ask  me.  Pray  wait.  The  doctor  said  it 
was  as  bad  as  dram-drinking,  if  you  took  too  much." 

Mrs.  Treverton's  clear  gray  eyes  began  to  flash ;  the  rosy 
flush  deepened  on  her  cheeks;  the  commanding  hand  was 
raised  again,  by  an  effort,  from  the  counterpane  on  which  it 
lay. 

"  Take  the  cork  out  of  the  bottle,"  she  said,  "  and  give  it 
to  me.  I  want  strength.  No  matter  whether  I  die  in  an 
hour's  time  or  a  week's.  Give  me  the  bottle." 

"  No,  no — not  the  bottle  !"  said  Sarah,  giving  it  up,  never 
theless,  under  the  influence  of  her  mistress's  look.  "  There 
are  two  doses  left.  Wait,  pray  wait  till  I  get  a  glass." 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  15 

She  turned  again  toward  the  table.  At  the  same  instant 
Mrs.  Treverton  raised  the  bottle  to  her  lips,  drained  it  of  its 
contents,  and  flung  it  from  her  on  the  bed. 

"She  has  killed  herself!"  cried  Sarah,  running  in  terror  to 
the  door. 

"  Stop !"  said  the  voice  from  the  bed,  more  resolute  than 
ever,  already.  "  Stop  !  Come  back  and  prop  me  up  higher 
on  the  pillows." 

Sarah  put  her  hand  on  the  bolt. 

"Come  back!"  reiterated  Mrs.  Treverton.  "While  there 
is  life  in  me,  I  will  be  obeyed.  Come  back  !"  The  color  be 
gan  to  deepen  perceptibly  all  over  her  face,  and  the  light  to 
grow  brighter  in  her  widely  opened  eyes. 

Sarah  came  back;  and  with  shaking  hands  added  one 
more  to  the  many  pillows  which  supported  the  dying  wom 
an's  head  and  shoulders.  While  this  was  being  done  the 
bed-clothes  became  a  little  discomposed.  Mrs.  Treverton 
shuddered,  and  drew  them  up  to  their  former  position,  close 
round  her  neck. 

"  Did  you  unbolt  the  door  ?"  she  asked. 

"  No." 

"I  forbid  you  to  go  near  it  again.  Get  my  writing-case, 
and  the  pen  and  ink,  from  the  cabinet  near  the  window." 

Sarah  went  to  the  cabinet  and  opened  it ;  then  stopped,  as 
if  some  sudden  suspicion  had  crossed  her  mind,  and  asked 
what  the  writing  materials  were  wanted  for. 

"Bring  them,  and  you  will  see." 

The  writing-case,  with  a  sheet  of  note-paper  on  it,  was 
placed  upon  Mrs.Treverton's  knees;  the  pen  was  dipped  into 
the  ink,  and  given  to  her ;  she  paused,  closed  her  eyes  for  a 
minute,  and  sighed  heavily ;  then  began  to  write,  saying  to 
her  waiting-maid,  as  the  pen  touched  the  paper — "  Look." 

Sarah  peered  anxiously  over  her  shoulder,  and  saw  the 
pen  slowly  and  feebly  form  these  three  words :  To  my  Hus 
band. 

"  Oh,  no  !  no  !  For  God's  sake,  don't  write  it !"  she  cried, 
catching  at  her  mistress's  hand— but  suddenly  letting  it  go 
again  the  moment  Mrs.  Treverton  looked  at  her. 

The  pen  went  on ;  and  more  slowly,  more  feebly,  formed 
words  enough  to  fill  a  line — then  stopped.  The  letters  of 
the  last  syllable  were  all  blotted  together. 


16  THE    DEAD    SECKET. 

"Don't !"  reiterated  Sarah,  dropping  on  her  knees  at  the 
bedside.  "  Don't  write  it  to  him  if  you  can't  tell  it  to  him. 
Let  me  go  on  bearing  what  I  have  borne  so  long  already. 
Let  the  Secret  die  with  you  and  die  with  me,  and  be  never 
known  in  this  world — never,  never,  never!" 

"The  Secret  must  be  told,"  answered  Mrs.  Treverton. 
"  My  husband  ought  to  know  it,  and  must  know  it.  I  tried 
to  tell  him,  and  my  courage  failed  me.  I  can  not  trust  you 
to  tell  him,  after  I  am  gone.  It  must  be  written.  Take  you 
the  pen  ;  my  sight  is  failing,  my  touch  is  dull.  Take  the  pen, 
and  write  what  I  tell  you." 

Sarah,  instead  of  obeying,  hid  her  face  in  the  bed-cover, 
and  wept  bitterly. 

"  You  have  been  with  me  ever  since  my  marriage,"  Mrs. 
Treverton  went  on.  "  You  have  been  my  friend  more  than 
my  servant.  Do  you  refuse  my  last  request  ?  You  do ! 
Fool !  look  up  and  listen  to  me.  On  your  peril,  refuse  to 
take  the  pen.  Write,  or  I  shall  not  rest  in  my  grave.  Write, 
or  as  true  as  there  is  a  Heaven  above  us,  I  will  come  to  you 
from  the  other  icorldf" 

Sarah  started  to  her  feet  with  a  faint  scream. 

"  You  make  my  flesh  creep  !"  she  whispered,  fixing  her  eyes 
on  her  mistress's  face  with  a  stare  of  superstitious  horror. 

At  the  same  instant,  the  overdose  of  the  stimulating  med 
icine  began  to  affect  Mrs.  Treverton's  brain.  She  rolled  her 
head  restlessly  from  side  to  side  of  the  pillow — repeated  va 
cantly  a  few  lines  from  one  of  the  old  play-books  which  had 
been  removed  from  her  bed — and  suddenly  held  out  the  pen 
to  the  servant,  with  a  theatrical  wave  of  the  hand,  and  a 
glance  upward  at  an  imaginary  gallery  of  spectators. 

"  Write  !"  she  cried,  with  an  awful  mimicry  of  her  old  stage 
voice.  "  Write  !"  And  the  weak  hand  was  waved  again  with 
a  forlorn,  feeble  imitation  of  the  old  stage  gesture. 

Closing  her  fingers  mechanically  on  the  pen  that  was  thrust 
between  them,  Sarah,  with  her  eyes  still  expressing  the  su 
perstitious  terror  which  her  mistress's  words  had  aroused, 
waited  for  the  next  command.  Some  minutes  elapsed  before 
Mrs.  Treverton  spoke  again.  She  still  retained  her  senses 
sufficiently  to  be  vaguely  conscious  of  the  effect  which  the 
medicine  was  producing  on  her,  and  to  be  desirous  of  com 
bating  its  further  progress  before  it  succeeded  in  utterly  con- 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  17 

fusing  her  ideas.  She  asked  first  for  the  smelling-bottle,  next 
for  some  Eau  de  Cologne. 

This  last,  poured  onto  her  handkerchief  and  applied  to  her 
forehead,  seemed  to  prove  successful  in  partially  clearing  her 
faculties.  Her  eyes  recovered  their  steady  look  of  intelli 
gence  ;  and,  when  she  again  addressed  her  maid,  reiterating 
the  word  "  Write,"  she  was  able  to  enforce  the  direction  by 
beginning  immediately  to  dictate  in  quiet,  deliberate,  deter 
mined  tones.  Sarah's  tears  fell  fast ;  her  lips  murmured  frag 
ments  of  sentences  in  which  entreaties,  expressions  of  peni 
tence,  and  exclamations  of  fear  were  all  strangely  mingled 
together ;  but  she  wrote  on  submissively,  in  wavering  lines, 
until  she  had  nearly  filled  the  first  two  sides  of  the  note-paper. 
Then  Mrs.  Treverton  paused,  looked  the  writing  over,  and, 
taking  the  pen,  signed  her  name  at  the  end  of  it.  With  this 
effort,  her  powers  of  resistance  to  the  exciting  effect  of  the 
medicine  seemed  to  fail  her  again.  The  deep  flush  began  to 
tinge  her  cheeks  once  more,  and  she  spoke  hurriedly  and  un 
steadily  when  she  handed  the  pen  back  to  her  maid. 

"  Sign  !"  she  cried,  beating  her  hand  feebly  on  the  bed 
clothes.  "Sign  *  Sarah  Leeson,  witness.'  No! — write*  Ac 
complice.'  Take  your  share  of  it;  I  won't  have  it  shifted  on 
me.  Sign,  I  insist  on  it !  Sign  as  I  tell  you." 

Sarah  obeyed;  and  Mrs. Treverton  taking  the  paper  from 
her,  pointed  to  it  solemnly,  with  a  return  of  the  stage  gest 
ure  which  had  escaped  her  a  little  while  back. 

"  You  will  give  this  to  your  master,"  she  said,  "  when  I  am 
dead;  and  you  will  answer  any  questions  he  puts  to  you  as 
truly  as  if  you  were  before  the  judgment-seat." 

Clasping  her  hands  fast  together,  Sarah  regarded  her  mis 
tress,  for  the  first  time,  with  steady  eyes,  and  spoke  to  her 
for  the  first  time  in  steady  tones. 

"If  I  only  knew  that  I  was  fit  to  die,"  she  said,  "oh,  how 
gladly  I  would  change  places  with  you  !" 

"  Promise  me  that  you  will  give  the  paper  to  your  master," 
repeated  Mrs.  Treverton.  "  Promise — no !  I  won't  trust  your 
promise — I'll  have  your  oath.  Get  the  Bible — the  Bible  the 
clergyman  used  wrhen  he  was  here  this  morning.  Get  it,  or 
I  shall  not  rest  in  my  grave.  Get  it,  or  I  ivill  come  to  you 
from  the  other  world" 

The  mistress  laughed  as  she  reiterated  that  threat.     The 


18  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

maid  shuddered,  as  she  obeyed  the  command  which  it  was 
designed  to  impress  on  her. 

"  Yes,  yes — the  Bible  the  clergyman  used,"  continued  Mrs. 
Treverton,  vacantly,  after  the  book  had  been  produced. 
"  The  clergyman — a  poor  weak  man — I  frightened  him,  Sa 
rah.  He  said,  '  Are  you  at  peace  with  all  the  world  ?'  and  I 
said,  'All  but  one.'  You  know  who." 

"  The  Captain's  brother  ?  Oh,  don't  die  at  enmity  with  any 
body.  Don't  die  at  enmity  even  with  him"  pleaded  Sarah. 

"  The  clergyman  said  so  too,"  murmured  Mrs.  Treverton, 
her  eyes  beginning  to  wander  childishly  round  the  room,  her 
tones  growing  suddenly  lower  and  more  confused.  " '  You 
must  forgive  him,'  the  clergyman  said.  And  I  said,  l  No,  I 
forgive  all  the  world,  but  not  my  husband's  brother.'  The 
clergyman  got  up  from  the  bedside,  frightened,  Sarah.  He 
talked  about  praying  for  me,  and  coming  back.  Will  he 
come  back  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  answered  Sarah.  "  He  is  a  good  man — he  will 
come  back — and  oh!  tell  him  that  you  forgive  the  Captain's 
brother !  Those  vile  words  he  spoke  of  you  when  you  were 
married  will  come  home  to  him  some  day.  Forgive  him — 
forgive  him  before  you  die  !" 

Saying  those  words,  she  attempted  to  remove  the  Bible 
softly  out  of  her  mistress's  sight.  The  action  attracted  Mrs. 
Treverton's  attention,  and  roused  her  sinking  faculties  into 
observation  of  present  things. 

"  Stop !"  she  cried,  with  a  gleam  of  the  old  resolution  flash 
ing  once  more  over  the  dying  dimness  of  her  eyes.  She 
caught  at  Sarah's  hand  with  a  great  effort,  placed  it  on  the 
Bible,  and  held  it  there.  Her  other  hand  wandered  a  little 
over  the  bed-clothes,  until  it  encountered  the  written  paper 
addressed  to  her  husband.  Her  fingers  closed  on  it,  and  a 
sigh  of  relief  escaped  her  lips. 

"  Ah !"  she  said,  "I  know  what  I  wanted  the  Bible  for.  I'm 
dying  with  all  my  senses  about  me,  Sarah  ;  you  can't  deceive 
me  even  yet."  She  stopped  again,  smiled  a  little,  whispered 
to  herself  rapidly,  "Wait,  wait,  wait!"  then  added  aloud, 
with  the  old  stage  voice  and  the  old  stage  gesture :  "  No ! 
I  won't  trust  you  on  your  promise.  I'll  have  your  oath. 
Kneel  down.  These  are  my  last  words  in  this  world — diso 
bey  them  if  you  dare  !" 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  19 

Sarah  dropped  on  her  knees  by  the  bed.  The  breeze  out 
side,  strengthening  just  then  with  the  slow  advance  of  the 
morning,  parted  the  window-curtains  a  little,  and  wafted  a 
breath  of  its  sweet  fragrance  joyously  into  the  sick-room. 
The  heavy  beating  hum  of  the  distant  surf  came  in  at  the 
same  time,  and  poured  out  its  unresting  music  in  louder 
strains.  Then  the  window-curtains  fell  to  again  heavily,  the 
wavering  flame  of  the  candle  grew  steady  once  more,  and  the 
awful  silence  in  the  room  sank  deeper  than  ever. 

"  Swear  !"  said  Mrs.Treverton.  Her  voice  failed  her  when 
she  had  pronounced  that  one  word.  She  struggled  a  little, 
recovered  the  power  of  utterance,  and  went  on  :  "  Swear  that 
you  will  not  destroy  this  paper  after  I  am  dead." 

Even  while  she  pronounced  these  solemn  words,  even  at 
that  last  struggle  for  life  and  strength,  the  ineradicable  the 
atrical  instinct  showed,  with  a  fearful  inappropriateness,  how 
firmly  it  kept  its  place  in  her  mind.  Sarah  felt  the  cold  hand 
that  was  still  laid  on  hers  lifted  for  a  moment — saw  it  wav 
ing  gracefully  toward  her — felt  it  descend  again,  and  clasp 
her  own  hand  with  a  trembling,  impatient  pressure.  At  that 
final  appeal,  she  answered  faintly, 

"  I  swear  it." 

"  Swear  that  you  will  not  take  this  paper  away  with  you, 
if  you  leave  the  house,  after  I  am  dead." 

Again  Sarah  paused  before  she  answered — again  the  trem 
bling  pressure  made  itself  felt  on  her  hand,  but  more  weakly 
this  time — and  again  the  words  dropped  affrightedly  from 
her  lips — 

"I  swear  it." 

"Swear!"  Mrs.Treverton  began  for  the  third  time.  Her 
voice  failed  her  once  more ;  and  she  struggled  vainly  to  re 
gain  the  command  over  it. 

Sarah  looked  up,  and  saw  signs  of  convulsion  beginning  to 
disfigure  the  white  face — saw  the  fingers  of  the  white,  deli 
cate  hand  getting  crooked  as  they  reached  over  toward  the 
table  on  which  the  medicine-bottles  were  placed. 

"  You  drank  it  all,"  she  cried,  starting  to  her  feet,  as  she 
comprehended  the  meaning  of  that  gesture.  "  Mistress,  dear 
mistress,  you  drank  it  all — there  is  nothing  but  the  opiate 
left.  Let  me  go — let  me  go  and  call — " 

A  look  from  Mrs.  Treverton  stopped  her  before  she  could 


20  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

utter  another  word.  The  lips  of  the  dying  woman  were  mov 
ing  rapidly.  Sarah  put  her  ear  close  to  them.  At  first  she 
heard  nothing  but  panting,  quick-drawn  breaths — then  a  few 
broken  words  mingled  confusedly  with  them : 

"  I  hav'n't  done — you  must  swear — close,  close,  come  close 
— a  third  thing — your  master — swear  to  give  it — " 

The  last  words  died  away  very  softly.  The  lips  that  had 
been  forming  them  so  laboriously  parted  on  a  sudden  and 
closed  again  no  more.  Sarah  sprang  to  the  door,  opened  it, 
and  called  into  the  passage  for  help ;  then  ran  back  to  the 
bedside,  caught  up  the  sheet  of  note-paper  on  which  she  had 
written  from  her  mistress's  dictation,  and  hid  it  in  her  bosom. 
The  last  look  of  Mrs.  Treverton's  eyes  fastened  sternly  and 
reproachfully  on  her  as  she  did  this,  and  kept  their  expression 
unchanged,  through  the  momentary  distortion  of  the  rest  of 
the  features,  for  one  breathless  moment.  That  moment  pass 
ed,  and,  with  the  next,  the  shadow  which  goes  before  the  pres 
ence  of  death  stole  up  and  shut  out  the  light  of  life  in  one 
quiet  instant  from  all  the  face. 

The  doctor,  followed  by  the  nurse  and  by  one  of  the  serv 
ants,  entered  the  room ;  and,  hurrying  to  the  bedside,  saw  at 
a  glance  that  the  time  for  his  attendance  there  had  passed 
away  forever.  He  spoke  first  to  the  servant  who  had  fol 
lowed  him. 

"  Go  to  your  master,"  he  said, "  and  beg  him  to  wait  in  his 
own  room  until  I  can  come  and  speak  to  him." 

"  Sarah  still  stood — without  moving  or  speaking,  or  no 
ticing  any  one — by  the  bedside. 

The  nurse,  approaching  to  draw  the  curtains  together, 
started  at  the  sight  of  her  face,  and  turned  to  the  doctor. 

"I  think  this  person  had  better  leave  the  room, Sir?"  said 
the  nurse,  with  some  appearance  of  contempt  in  her  tones 
and  looks.  "  She  seems  unreasonably  shocked  and  terrified 
by  what  has  happened." 

"  Quite  right,"  said  the  doctor.  "  It  is  best  that  she  should 
withdraw. — Let  me  recommend  you  to  leave  us  for  a  little 
while,"  he  added,  touching  Sarah  on  the  arm. 

She  shrank  back  suspiciously,  raised  one  of  her  hands  to 
the  place  where  the  letter  lay  hidden  in  her  bosom,  and 
pressed  it  there  firmly,  while  she  held  out  the  other  hand  for 
a  candle. 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  21 

"  You  had  better  rest  for  a  little  in  your  own  room,"  said 
the  doctor,  giving  her  a  candle.  "  Stop,  though,"  he  contin 
ued,  after  a  moment's  reflection.  "  I  am  going  to  break  the 
sad  news  to  your  master,  and  I  may  find  that  he  is  anxious 
to  hear  any  last  words  that  Mrs. Treverton  may  have  spoken 
in  your  presence.  Perhaps  you  had  better  come  with  me, 
and  wait  while  I  go  into  Captain  Treverton's  room." 

"No!  no!  —  oh,  not  now  —  not  now,  for  God's  sake!" 
Speaking  those  words  in  low,  quick,  pleading  tones,  and  draw 
ing  back  affrightedly  to  the  door,  Sarah  disappeared  without 
waiting  a  moment  to  be  spoken  to  again. 

"A  strange  woman  !"  said  the  doctor,  addressing  the  nurse. 
"  Follow  her,  and  see  where  she  goes  to,  in  case  she  is  want 
ed  and  we  are  obliged  to  send  for  her.  I  will  wait  here  until 
you  come  back." 

When  the  nurse  returned  she  had  nothing  to  report  but 
that  she  had  followed  Sarah  Leeson  to  her  own  bedroom,  had 
seen  her  enter  it,  had  listened  outside,  and  had  heard  her 
lock  the  door. 

"A  strange  woman  !"  repeated  the  doctor.  "One  of  the 
silent,  secret  sort." 

"  One  of  the  wrong  sort,"  said  the  nurse.  "  She  is  always 
talking  to  herself,  and  that  is  a  bad  sign,  in  my  opinion.  I 
distrusted  her,  Sir,  the  very  first  day  I  entered  the  house." 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    CHILD. 

THE  instant  Sarah  Leeson  had  turned  the  key  of  her  bed 
room  door,  she  took  the  sheet  of  note-paper  from  its  place  of 
concealment  in  her  bosom — shuddering,  when  she  drew  it 
out,  as  if  the  mere  contact  of  it  hurt  her — placed  it  open  on 
her  little  dressing-table,  and  fixed  her  eyes  eagerly  on  the 
lines  which  the  note  contained.  At  first  they  swam  and  min 
gled  together  before  her.  She  pressed  her  hands  over  her 
eyes,  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  looked  at  the  writing  again. 

The  characters  were  clear  now — vividly  clear,  and,  as  she 
fancied,  unnaturally  large  and  near  to  view.  There  was  the 
address :  "  To  my  Husband ;"  there  the  first  blotted  line  be 
neath,  in  her  dead  mistress's  handwriting;  there  the  lines  that 


22  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

followed,  traced  by  her  own  pen,  with  the  signature  at  the 
end — Mrs.  Treverton's  first,  and  then  her  own.  The  whole 
amounted  to  but  very  few  sentences,  written  on  one  perish 
able  fragment  of  paper,  which  the  flame  of  a  candle  would 
have  consumed  in  a  moment.  Yet  there  she  sat,  reading, 
reading,  reading,  over  and  over  again;  never  touching 'the 
note,  except  when  it  was  absolutely  necessary  to  turn  over 
the  first  page ;  never  moving,  never  speaking,  never  raising 
her  eyes  from  the  paper.  As  a  condemned  prisoner  might 
read  his  death-warrant,  so  did  Sarah  Leeson  now  read  the 
few  lines  which  she  and  her  mistress  had  written  too-ether 

O 

not  half  an  hour  since. 

The  secret  of  the  paralyzing  effect  of  that  writing  on  her 
mind  lay,  not  only  in  itself,  but  in  the  circumstances  which 
had  attended  the  act  of  its  production. 

The  oath  which  had  been  proposed  by  Mrs.  Treverton  un 
der  no  more  serious  influence  than  the  last  caprice  of  her  dis 
ordered  faculties,  stimulated  by  confused  remembrances  of 
stage  words  and  stage  situations,  had  been  accepted  by  Sarah 
Leeson  as  the  most  sacred  and  inviolable  engagement  to 
which  she  could  bind  herself.  The  threat  of  enforcing  obe 
dience  to  her  last  commands  from  beyond  the  grave,  which 
the  mistress  had  uttered  in  mocking  experiment  on  the  super 
stitious  fears  of  the  maid,  now  hung  darkly  over  the  weak 
mind  of  Sarah,  as  a  judgment  which  might  descend  on  her, 
visibly  and  inexorably,  at  any  moment  of  her  future  life. 
When  she  roused  herself  at  last,  and  pushed  away  the  paper 
and  rose  to  her  feet,  she  stood  quite  still  for  an  instant,  before 
she  ventured  to  look  behind  her.  When  she  did  look,  it  was 
with  an  effort  and  a  start,  with  a  searching  distrust  of  the 
empty  dimness  in  the  remoter  corners  of  the  room. 

Her  old  habit  of  talking  to  herself  began  to  resume  its  in 
fluence,  as  she  now  walked  rapidly  backward  and  forward, 
sometimes  along  the  room  and  sometimes  across  it.  She  re 
peated  incessantly  such  broken  phrases  as  these :  "  How  can 
I  give  him  the  letter? — Such  a  good  master;  so  kind  to  us 
all. — Why  did  she  die,  and  leave  it  all  to  me  f — I  can't  bear 
it  alone ;  it's  too  much  for  me."  While  reiterating  these  sen 
tences,  she  vacantly  occupied  herself  in  putting  things  about 
the  room  in  order,  which  were  set  in  perfect  order  already. 
All  her  looks,  all  her  actions,  betrayed  the  vain  struggle  of  a 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  23 

weak  mind  to  sustain  itself  under  the  weight  of  a  heavy  re 
sponsibility.  She  arranged  and  re-arranged  the  cheap  china 
ornaments  on  her  chimney-piece  a  dozen  times  over — put  her 
pin-cushion  first  on  the  looking-glass,  then  on  the  table  in 
front  of  it — changed  the  position  of  the  little  porcelain  dish 
and  tray  on  her  wash-hand-stand,  now  to  one  side  of  the  basin, 
and  now  to  the  other.  Throughout  all  these  trifling  actions 
the  natural  grace,  delicacy,  and  prim  neat-handedness  of  the 
woman  still  waited  mechanically  on  the  most  useless  and  aim 
less  of  her  occupations  of  the  moment.  She  knocked  nothing 
down,  she  put  nothing  awry ;  her  footsteps  at  the  fastest 
made  no  sound — the  very  skirts  of  her  dress  were  kept  as 
properly  and  prudishly  composed  as  if  it  was  broad  daylight 
and  the  eyes  of  all  her  neighbors  were  looking  at  her. 

From  time  to  time  the  sense  of  the  words  she  was  murmur 
ing  confusedly  to  herself  changed.  Sometimes  they  disjoint- 
edly  expressed  bolder  and  more  self-reliant  thoughts.  Once 
they  seemed  to  urge  her  again  to  the  dressing-table  and  the 
open  letter  on  it,  against  her  own  will.  She  read  aloud  the 
address, "  To  my  Husband,"  and  caught  the  letter  up  sharp 
ly,  and  spoke  in  firmer  tones.  "  Why  give  it  to  him  at  all? 
Why  not  let  the  secret  die  with  her  and  die  with  me,  as  it 
ought  ?  Why  should  he  know  it  ?  He  shall  not  know  it !" 

Saying  those  last  words,  she  desperately  held  the  letter 
within  an  inch  of  the  flame  of  the  candle.  At  the  same  mo 
ment  the  white  curtain  over  the  window  before  her  stirred  a 
little,  as  the  freshening  air  found  its  way  through  the  old- 
fashioned,  ill-fitting  sashes.  Her  eye  caught  sight  of  it,  as  it 
waved  gently  backward  and  forward.  She  clasped  the  letter 
suddenly  to  her  breast  with  both  hands,  and  shrank  back 
against  the  wall  of  the  room,  her  eyes  still  fastened  on  the 
curtain  with  the  same  blank  look  of  horror  which  they  had 
exhibited  when  Mrs.  Treverton  had  threatened  to  claim  her 
servant's  obedience  from  the  other  world. 

"  Something  moves,"  she  gasped  to  herself,  in  a  breathless 
whisper.  "  Something  moves  in  the  room." 

The  curtain  waved  slowly  to  and  fro  for  the  second  time. 
Still  fixedly  looking  at  it  over  her  shoulder,  she  crept  along 
the  wall  to  the  door. 

uDo  you  come  to  me  already?"  she  said,  her  eyes  riveted 
on  the  curtain  while  her  hand  groped  over  the  lock  for  the 

B 


24  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

key.  "Before  your  grave  is  dug?  Before  your  coffin  is 
made  ?  Before  your  body  is  cold  ?" 

She  opened  the  door  and  glided  into  the  passage ;  stopped 
there  for  a  moment,  and  looked  back  into  the  room. 

"Rest!"  she  said.  "Rest,  mistress — he  shall  have  the 
letter." 

The  staircase-lamp  guided  her  out  of  the  passage.  De 
scending  hurriedly,  as  if  she  feared  to  give  herself  time  to 
think,  she  reached  Captain  Treverton's  study,  on  the  ground- 
floor,  in  a  minute  or  two.  The  door  was  wide  open,  aiid  the 
room  was  empty. 

After  reflecting  a  little,  she  lighted  one  of  the  chamber-can 
dles  standing  on  the  hall-table,  at  the  lamp  in  the  study,  and 
ascended  the  stairs  again  to  her  master's  bedroom.  After  re 
peatedly  knocking  at  the  door  and  obtaining  no  answer,  she 
ventured  to  go  in.  The  bed  had  not  been  disturbed,  the  can 
dles  had  not  been  lit — to  all  appearance  the  room  had  not 
even  been  entered  during  the  night. 

There  was  but  one  other  place  to  seek  him — the  chamber 
in  which  his  wife  lay  dead.  Could  she  summon  the  courage 
to  give  him  the  letter  there  ?  She  hesitated  a  little — then 
whispered,  "  I  must !  I  must !" 

The  direction  she  now  compelled  herself  to  take  led  her  a 
little  way  down  the  stairs  again.  She  descended  very  slowly 
this  time,  holding  cautiously  by  the  banisters,  and  pausing 
to  take  breath  almost  at  every  step.  The  door  of  what  had 
been  Mrs.  Treverton's  bedroom  was  opened,  when  she  vent 
ured  to  knock  at  it,  by  the  nurse,  who  inquired,  roughly  and 
suspiciously,  what  she  wanted  there. 

"  I  want  to  speak  to  my  master." 

"Look  for  him  somewhere  else.  He  was  here  half  an  hour 
ago.  He  is  gone  now." 

"Do  you  know  where  he  has  gone?" 

"No.  I  don't  pry  into  other  people's  goings  and  comings. 
I  mind  my  own  business." 

With  that  discourteous  answer,  the  nurse  closed  the  door 
again.  Just  as  Sarah  turned  away  from  it  she  looked  toward 
the  inner  end  of  the  passage.  The  door  of  the  nursery  wras 
situated  there.  It  was  ajar,  and  a  dim  gleam  of  candle-light 
was  flickering  through  it. 

She  went  in  immediately,  and  saw  that  the  candle-light 


"AND  TOWARD  THE  OPENING  THUS  MADE  SAKAH  NOW  ADVANCED. 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  25 

came  from  an  inner  room,  usually  occupied,  as  she  well  knew, 
by  the  nursery-maid  and  by  the  only  child  of  the  house  of 
Treverton — a  little  girl  named  Rosamond,  aged,  at  that  time, 
nearly  five  years. 

"Can  he  be  there? — in  that  room,  of  all  the  rooms  in  the 
house !" 

Quickly  as  the  thought  arose  in  her  mind,  Sarah  raised  the 
letter  (which  she  had  hitherto  carried  in  her  hand)  to  the 
bosom  of  her  dress,  and  hid  it  for  the  second  time,  exactly  as 
she  had  hidden  it  on  leaving  her  mistress's  bedside. 

She  then  stole  across  the  nursery  on  tiptoe  toward  the 
inner  room.  The  entrance  to  it,  to  please  some  caprice  ot 
the  child's,  had  been  arched,  and  framed  with  trellis-work, 
gayly  colored,  so  as  to  resemble  the  entrance  to  a  summer- 
house.  Two  pretty  chintz  curtains,  hanging  inside  the 
trellis-work,  formed  the  only  barrier  between  the  day-room 
and  the  bedroom.  One  of  these  was  looped  up,  and  toward 
the  opening  thus  made  Sarah  now  advanced,  after  cautiously 
leaving  her  candle  in  the  passage  outside. 

The  first  object  that  attracted  her  attention  in  the  child's 
bedroom  was  the  figure  of  the  nurse-maid,  leaning  back, 
fast  asleep,  in  an  easy-chair  by  the  window.  Venturing,  after 
this  discovery,  to  look  more  boldly  into  the  room,  she  next  saw 
her  master  sitting  with  his  back  toward  her,  by  the  side  of 
the  child's  crib.  Little  Rosamond  was  awake,  and  was  stand 
ing  up  in  bed  with  her  arms  round  her  father's  neck.  One 
of  her  hands  held  over  his  shoulder  the  doll  that  she  had 
taken  to  bed  with  her,  the  other  was  twined  gently  in  his 
hair.  The  child  had  been  crying  bitterly,  and  had  now  ex 
hausted  herself,  so  that  she  was  only  moaning  a  little  from 
time  to  time,  with  her  head  laid  wearily  on  her  father's  bosom. 

The  tears  stood  thick  in  Sarah's  eyes  as  they  looked  on  her 
master  and  on  the  little  hands  that  lay  round  his  neck.  She 
lingered  by  the  raised  curtain,  heedless  of  the  risk  she  ran, 
from  moment  to  moment,  of  being  discovered  and  questioned 
— lingered  until  she  heard  Captain  Treverton  say  soothingly 
to  the  child : 

"Hush,  Rosie,  dear!  hush,  my  own  love!  Don't  cry  any 
more  for  poor  mamma.  Think  of  poor  papa,  and  try  to  com 
fort  him." 

Simple  as  the  words  were,  quietly  and  tenderly  as  they 


26  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

were  spoken,  they  seemed  instantly  to  deprive  Sarah  Leeson 
of  all  power  of  self-control.  Reckless  whether  she  was  heard 
or  not,  she  turned  and  ran  into  the  passage  as  if  she  had  been 
flying  for  her  life.  Passing  the  candle  she  had  left  there, 
without  so  much  as  a  look  at  it,  she  made  for  the  stairs,  and 
descended  them  with  headlong  rapidity  to  the  kitchen-floor. 
There  one  of  the  servants  who  had  been  sitting  up  met  her, 
and,  with  a  face  of  astonishment  and  alarm,  asked  what  was 
the  matter. 

"I'm  ill — I'm  faint — I  want  air,"  she  answered,  speaking 
thickly  and  confusedly.  "  Open  the  garden  door,  and  let  me 
out." 

The  man  obeyed,  but  doubtfully,  as  if  he  thought  her  unfit 
to  be  trusted  by  herself. 

"  She  gets  stranger  than  ever  in  her  ways,"  he  said,  when 
he  rejoined  his  fellow-servant,  after  Sarah  had  hurried  past 
him  into  the  open  air.  "  Now  our  mistress  is  dead,  she  will 
have  to  find  another  place,  I  suppose.  I,  for  one,  sha'n't  break 
my  heart  when  she's  gone.  Shall  you  ?" 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    HIDING    OF   THE    SECRET. 

THE  cool,  sweet  air  in  the  garden,  blowing  freshly  over 
Sarah's  face,  seemed  to  calm  the  violence  of  her  agitation. 
She  turned  down  a  side  walk,  which  led  to  a  terrace  and 
overlooked  the  church  of  the  neighboring  village. 

The  daylight  out  of  doors  was  clear  already.  The  misty 
auburn  light  that  goes  before  sunrise  was  flowing  up,  peace 
ful  and  lovely,  behind  a  line  of  black -brown  moorland,  over 
all  the  eastern  sky.  The  old  church,  with  the  hedge  of  myr 
tle  and  fuchsia  growing  round  the  little  cemetery  in  all  the 
luxuriance  which  is  only  seen  in  Cornwall,  was  clearing  and 
brightening  to  view,  almost  as  fast  as  the  morning  firmament 
itself.  Sarah  leaned  her  arms  heavily  on  the  back  of  a  gar 
den-seat,  and  turned  her  face  toward  the  church.  Her  eyes 
wandered  from  the  building  itself  to  the  cemetery  by  its 
side,  rested  there,  and  watched  the  light  growing  warmer 
and  warmer  over  the  lonesome  refuge  where  the  dead  lay  at 
rest. 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  27 

"  Oh,  my  heart !  my  heart !"  she  said.  "  What  must  it  be 
made  of  not  to  break  ?" 

She  remained  for  some  time  leaning  on  the  seat,  looking 
sadly  toward  the  church-yard,  and  pondering  over  the  words 
which  she  had  heard  Captain  Treverton  say  to  the  child. 
They  seemed  to  connect  themselves,  as  every  thing  else  now 
appeared  to  connect  itself  in  her  mind,  with  the  letter  that 
had  been  written  on  Mrs.  Treverton's  death-bed.  She  drew 
it  from  her  bosom  once  more,  and  crushed  it  up  angrily  in 
her  fingers. 

"Still  in  my  hands !  still  not  seen  by  any  eyes  but  mine!" 
she  said,  looking  down  at  the  crumpled  pages.  "Is  it  all  my 
fault?  If  she  was  alive  now — if  she  had  seen  what  I  saw,  if 
she  had  heard  what  I  heard  in  the  nursery — could  she  ex 
pect  me  to  give  him  the  letter  ?" 

Her  mind  was  apparently  steadied  by  the  reflection  which 
her  last  words  expressed.  She  moved  away  thoughtfully  from 
the  garden-seat,  crossed  the  terrace,  descended  some  wooden 
steps,  and  followed  a  shrubbery  path  which  led  round  by  a 
windin^  track  from  the  east  to  the  north  side  of  the  house. 

O 

This  part  of  the  building  had  been  uninhabited  and  neg 
lected  for  more  than  half  a  century  past.  In  the  time  of 
Captain  Treverton's  father  the  whole  range  of  the  north 
rooms  had  been  stripped  of  their  finest  pictures  and  their 
most  valuable  furniture,  to  assist  in  redecorating  the  west 
rooms,  which  now  formed  the  only  inhabited  part  of  the 
house,  and  which  were  amply  sufficient  for  the  accommoda 
tion  of  the  family  and  of  any  visitors  who  came  to  stay  with 
them.  The  mansion  had  been  originally  built  in  the  form 
of  a  square,  and  had  been  strongly  fortified.  Of  the  many 
defenses  of  the  place,  but  one  now  remained — a  heavy,  low 
tower  (from  which  and  from  the  village  near,  the  house  de 
rived  its  name  of  Porthgenna  Tower), standing  at  the  southern 
extremity  of  the  west  front.  The  south  side  itself  consisted 
of  stables  and  out-houses,  with  a  ruinous  wall  in  front  of 
them,  which,  running  back  eastward  at  right  angles,  joined 
the  north  side,  and  so  completed  the  square  which  the  whole 
outline  of  the  building  represented. 

The  outside  view  of  the  range  of  north  rooms,  from  the 
weedy,  deserted  garden  below,  showed  plainly  enough  that 
many  years  had  passed  since  any  human  creature  had  inhab- 


28  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

ited  them.  The  window-panes  were  broken  in  some  places, 
and  covered  thickly  with  dirt  and  dust  in  others.  Here,  the 
shutters  were  closed  —  there,  they  were  only  half  opened. 
The  untrained  ivy,  the  rank  vegetation  growing  in  fissures 
of  the  stone-work,  the  festoons  of  spiders'  webs,  the  rubbish 
of  wood,  bricks,  plaster,  broken  glass,  rags,  and  strips  of 
soiled  cloth,  which  lay  beneath  the  windows,  all  told  the 
same  tale  of  neglect.  Shadowed  by  its  position,  this  ruinous 
side  of  the  house  had  a  dark,  cold,  wintry  aspect,  even  on  the 
sunny  August  morning  when  Sarah  Leeson  strayed  into  the 
deserted  northern  garden.  Lost  in  the  labyrinth  of  her  own 
thoughts,  she  moved  slowly  past  flower-beds,  long  since  root 
ed  up,  and  along  gravel  walks  overgrown  by  weeds ;  her 
eyes  wandering  mechanically  over  the  prospect,  her  feet  me 
chanically  carrying  her  on  wherever  there  was  a  trace  of  a 
footpath,  lead  where  it  might. 

The  shock  which  the  words  spoken  by  her  master  in  the 
nursery  had  communicated  to  her  mind,  had  set  her  whole 
nature,  so  to  speak,  at  bay,  and  had  roused  in  her,  at  last, 
the  moral  courage  to  arm  herself  with  a  final  and  desperate 
resolution.  "Wandering  more  and  more  slowly  along  the 
pathways  of  the  forsaken  garden,  as  the  course  of  her  ideas 
withdrew  her  more  and  more  completely  from  all  outward 
things,  she  stopped  insensibly  on  an  open  patch  of  ground, 
which  had  on.ce  been  a  well-kept  lawn,  and  which  still  com 
manded  a  full  view  of  the  long  range  of  uninhabited  north 
rooms. 

"  What  binds  me  to  give  the  letter  to  my  master  at  all  ?" 
she  thought  to  herself,  smoothing  out  the  crumpled  paper 
dreamily  in  the  palm  of  her  hand.  "My  mistress  died  with 
out  making  me  swear  to  do  that.  Can  she  visit  it  on  me 
from  the  other  world,  if  I  keep  the  promises  I  swore  to  ob 
serve,  and  do  no  more?  May  I  not  risk  the  worst  that  can 
happen,  so  long  as  I  hold  religiously  to  all  that  I  undertook 
to  do  on  my  oath  ?" 

She  paused  here  in  reasoning  with  herself — her  superstitious 
fears  still  influencing  her  out  of  doors,  in  the  daylight,  as  they 
had  influenced  her  in  her  own  room,  in  the  time  of  darkness. 
She  paused — then  fell  to  smoothing  the  letter  again,  and  be 
gan  to  recall  the  terms  of  the  solemn  engagement  which 
Mrs.  Treverton  had  forced  her  to  contract. 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  29 

What  had  she  actually  bound  herself  to  do?  Not  to  de 
stroy  the  letter,  and  not  to  take  it  away  with  her  if  she  left 
the  house.  Beyond  that,  Mrs.  Treverton's  desire  had  been 
that  the  letter  should  be  given  to  her  husband.  Was  that 
last  wish  binding  on  the  person  to  whom  it  had  been  con 
fided  ?  Yes.  As  binding  as  an  oath  ?  No. 

As  she  arrived  at  that  conclusion,  she  looked  up. 

At  first  her  eyes  rested  vacantly  on  the  lonely,  deserted 
north  front  of  the  house ;  gradually  they  became  attracted 
by  one  particular  window  exactly  in  the  middle,  on  the  floor 
above  the  ground — the  largest  and  the  gloomiest  of  all  the 
row ;  suddenly  they  brightened  with  an  expression  of  intel 
ligence.  She  started ;  a  faint  flush  of  color  flew  into  her 
cheeks,  and  she  hastily  advanced  closer  to  the  wall  of  the 
house. 

The  panes  of  the  large  window  were  yellow  with  dust  and 
dirt,  and  festooned  about  fantastically  with  cobwebs.  Be 
low  it  was  a  heap  of  rubbish,  scatterred  over  the  dry  mould 
of  what  might  once  have  been  a  bed  of -flowers  or  shrubs. 
The  form  of  the  bed  was  still  marked  out  by  an  oblong 
boundary  of  weeds  and  rank  grass.  She  followed  it  irreso 
lutely  all  round,  looking  up  at  the  window  at  every  step — 
then  stopped  close  under  it,  glanced  at  the  letter  in  her 
hand,  and  said  to  herself  abruptly — 

"  I'll  risk  it !" 

As  the  words  fell  from  her  lips,  she  hastened  back  to  the 
inhabited  part  of  the  house,  followed  the  passage  on  the 
kitchen-floor  which  led  to  the  housekeeper's  room,  entered  it, 
and  took  down  from  a  nail  in  the  wall  a  bunch  of  keys,  hav 
ing  a  large  ivory  label  attached  to  the  ring  that  connected 
them,  on  which  was  inscribed,  "  Keys  of  the  North  Rooms." 

She  placed  the  keys  on  a  writing-table  near  her,  took  up 
a  pen,  and  rapidly  added  these  lines  on  the  blank  side  of  the 
letter  which  she  had  written  under  her  mistress's  dictation — 

"  If  this  paper  should  ever  be  found  (which  I  pray  with 
my  whole  heart  it  never  may  be),  I  wish  to  say  that  I  have 
come  to  the  resolution  of  hiding  it,  because  I  dare  not  show 
the  writing  that  it  contains  to  my  master,  to  whom  it  is  ad 
dressed.  In  doing  what  I  now  propose  to  do,  though  I  am 
acting  against  my  mistress's  last  wishes,  I  am  not  breaking 

B2 


30  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

the  solemn  engagement  which  she  obliged  me  to  make  be 
fore  her  on  her  death-bed.  That  engagement  forbids  me  to 
destroy  this  letter,  or  to  take  it  away  with  me  if  I  leave  the 
house.  I  shall  do  neither — my  purpose  is  to  conceal  it  in 
the  place,  of  all  others,  where  I  think  there  is  least  chance 
of  its  ever  being  found  again.  Any  hardship  or  misfortune 
which  may  follow  as  a  consequence  of  this  deceitful  proceed 
ing  on  my  part,  will  fall  on  myself.  Others,  I  believe  in  my 
conscience,  will  be  the  happier  for  the  hiding  of  the  dreadful 
Secret  which  this  letter  contains." 

She  signed  those  lines  with  her  name — pressed  them  hur 
riedly  over  the  blotting-pad  that  lay  with  the  rest  of  the 
writing  materials  on  the  table — took  the  note  in  her  hand, 
after  first  folding  it  up — and  then,  snatching  at  the  bunch 
of  keys,  with  a  look  all  round  her  as  if  she  dreaded  being  se 
cretly  observed,  left  the  room.  All  her  actions  since  she 
had  entered  it  had  been  hasty  and  sudden ;  she  was  evident 
ly  afraid  of  allowing  herself  one  leisure  moment  to  reflect. 

On  quitting  the  housekeeper's  room,  she  turned  to  the  left, 
ascended  a  back  staircase,  and  unlocked  a  door  at  the  top  of 
it.  A  cloud  of  dust  flew  all  about  her  as  she  softly  opened 
the  door ;  a  mouldy  coolness  made  her  shiver  as  she  crossed 
a  large  stone  hall,  with  some  black  old  family  portraits  hang 
ing  on  the  walls,  the  canvases  of  which  were  bulging  out  of 
the  frames.  Ascending  more  stairs,  she  came  upon  a  row  of 
doors,  all  leading  into  rooms  on  the  first  floor  of  the  north 
side  of  the  house. 

She  knelt  down,  putting  the  letter  on  the  boards  beside 
her,  opposite  the  key-hole  of  the  fourth  door  she  came  to  aft 
er  reaching  the  top  of  the  stairs,  peered  in  distrustfully  for 
an  instant,  then  began  to  try  the  different  keys  till  she*found 
one  that  fitted  the  lock.  She  had  great  difficulty  in  accom 
plishing  this,  from  the  violence  of  her  agitation,  which  made 
her  hands  tremble  to  such  a  degree  that  she  was  hardly  able 
to  keep  the  keys  separate  one  from  the  other.  At  length 
she  succeeded  in  opening  the  door.  Thicker  clouds  of  dust 
than  she  had  yet  met  with  flew  out  the  moment  the  interior 
of  the  room  was  visible  ;  a  dry,  airless,  suffocating  atmos 
phere  almost  choked  her  as  she  stooped  to  pick  up  the  letter 
from  the  floor.  She  recoiled  from  it  at  first,  and  took  a  few 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  31 

steps  back  toward  the  staircase.  But  she  recovered  her  res 
olution  immediately. 

"  I  can't  go  back  now  !"  she  said,  desperately,  and  entered 
.the  room. 

She  did  not  remain  in  it  more  than  two  or  three  minutes. 
When  she  came  out  again  her  face  was  white  with  fear,  and 
the  hand  which  had  held  the  letter  when  she  went  into  the 
room  held  nothing  now  but  a  small  rusty  key. 

After  locking  the  door  again,  she  examined  the  large  bunch 
of  keys  which  she  had  taken  from  the  housekeeper's  room, 
with  closer  attention  than  she  had  yet  bestowed  on  them. 
Besides  the  ivory  label  attached  to  the  ring  that  connected 
them,  there  were  smaller  labels,  of  parchment,  tied  to  the 
handles  of  some  of  the  keys,  to  indicate  the  rooms  to  which 
they  gave  admission.  The  particular  key  which  she  had 
used  had  one  of  these  labels  hanging  to  it.  She  held  the 
little  strip  of  parchment  close  to  the  light,  and  read  on  it,  in 
written  characters  faded  by  time — 

"  The  Myrtle  Room." 

The  room  in  which  the  letter  was  hidden  had  a  name, 
then  !  A  prettily  sounding  name  that  would  attract  most 
people,  and  keep  pleasantly  in  their  memories.  A  name  to 
be  distrusted  by  her,  after  what  she  had  done,  on  that  very 
account. 

She  took  her  housewife  from  its  usual  place  in  the  pocket 
of  her  apron,  and,  with  the  scissors  which  it  contained,  cut 
the  label  from  the  key.  Was  it  enough  to  destroy  that  one 
only  ?  She  lost  herself  in  a  maze  of  useless  conjecture  ;  and 
ended  by  cutting  off  the  other  labels,  from  no  other  motive 
than  instinctive  suspicion  of  them. 

Carefully  gathering  up  the  strirs  of  parchment  from  the 
floor,  sjie  put  them,  along  with  the  little  rusty  key  which  she 
had  brought  out  of  the  Myrtle  Room,  in  the  empty  pocket 
of  her  apron.  Then,  carrying  the  large  bunch  of  keys  in  her 
hand,  and  carefully  locking  the  doors  that  she  had  opened 
on  her  way  to  the  north  side  of  Porthgenna  Tower,  she  re 
traced  her  steps  to  the  housekeeper's  room,  entered  it  with 
out  seeing  any  body,  and  hung  up  the  bunch  of  keys  again 
on  the  nail  in  the  wall. 

Fearful,  as  the  morning  hours  wore  on,  of  meeting  with 
some  of  the  female  servants,  she  next  hastened  back  to  her 


32  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

bedroom.  The  candle  she  had  left  there  was  still  burning 
feebly  in  the  fresh  daylight.  When  she  drew  aside  the  win 
dow-curtain,  after  extinguishing  the  candle,  a  shadow  of  her 
former  fear  passed  over  her  face,  even  in  the  broad  daylight 
that  now  flowed  in  upon  it.  She  opened  the  window,  and 
leaned  out  eagerly  into  the  cool  air. 

Whether  for  good  or  for  evil,  the  fatal  Secret  was  hidden 
now — the  act  was  done.  There  was  something  calming  in 
the  first  consciousness  of  that  one  fact.  She  could  think 
more  composedly,  after  that,  of  herself,  and  of  the  uncertain 
future  that  lay  before  her. 

Under  no  circumstances  could  she  have  expected  to  re 
main  in  her  situation,  now  that  the  connection  between  her 
self  and  her  mistress  had  been  severed  by  death.  She  knew 
that  Mrs.  Treverton,  in  the  last  days  of  her  illness,  had  ear 
nestly  recommended  her  maid  to  Captain  Treverton's  kind 
ness  and  protection,  and  she  felt  assured  that  the  wife's  last 
entreaties,  in  this  as  in  all  other  instances,  would  be  viewed 
as  the  most  sacred  of  obligations  by  the  husband.  But 
could  she  accept  protection  and  kindness  at  the  hand  of  the 
master  whom  she  had  been  accessory  to  deceiving,  and  whom 
she  had  now  committed  herself  to  deceiving  still?  The  bare 
idea  of  such  baseness  was  so  revolting,  that  she  accepted,  al 
most  with  a  sense  of  relief,  the  one  sad  alternative  that  re 
mained — the  alternative  of  leaving  the  house  immediately. 

And  how  was  she  to  leave  it  ?  By  giving  formal  warn 
ing,  and  so  exposing  herself  to  questions  which  would  be 
sure  to  confuse  and  terrify  her?  Could  she  venture  to  face 
her  master  again,  after  what  she  had  done  —  to  face  him, 
when  his  first  inquiries  would  refer  to  her  mistress,  when  he 
would  be  certain  to  ask  her  for  the  last  mournful  details,  for 
the  slightest  word  that  had  been  spoken  during  the  death- 
scene  that  she  alone  had  witnessed  ?  She  started  to  her  feet, 
as  the  certain  consequences  of  submitting  herself  to  that  un 
endurable  trial  all  crowded  together  warningly  on  her  mind, 
took  her  cloak  from  its  place  on  the  wall,  and  listened  at  her 
door  in  sudden  suspicion  and  fear.  Had  she  heard  footsteps  ? 
Was  her  master  sending  for  her  already  ? 

No;  all  was  silent  outside.  A  few  tears  rolled  over  her 
cheeks  as  she  put  on  her  bonnet,  and  felt  that  she  was  fac 
ing,  by  the  performance  of  that  simple  action,  the  last,  and 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  33 

perhaps  the  hardest  to  meet,  of  the  cruel  necessities  in  which 
the  hiding  of  the  Secret  had  involved  her.  There  was  no 
help  for  it.  She  must  run  the  risk  of  betraying  every  thing, 
or  brave  the  double  trial  of  leaving  Porthgenna  Tower,  and 
leaving  it  secretly. 

Secretly — as  a  thief  might  go?  Without  a  word  to  her 
master?  without  so  much  as  one  line  of  writing  to  thank 
him  for  his  kindness  and  to  ask  his  pardon?  She  had  un 
locked  her  desk,  and  had  taken  from  it  her  purse,  one  or  two 
letters,  and  a  little  book  of  Wesley's  Hymns,  before  these 
considerations  occurred  to  her.  They  made  her  pause  in 
the  act  of  shutting  up  the  desk.  "  Shall  I  write  ?"  she  asked 
herself,  "  and  leave  the  letter  here,  to  be  found  when  I  am 
gone?" 

A  little  more  reflection  decided  her  in  the  affirmative. 
As  rapidly  as  her  pen  could  form  the  letters,  she  wrote  a  few 
lines  addressed  to  Captain  Treverton,  in  which  she  confessed 
to  having  kept  a  secret  from  his  knowledge  which  had  been 
left  in  her  charge  to  divulge ;  adding,  that  she  honestly  be 
lieved  no  harm  could  come  to  him,  or  to  any  one  in  whom  he 
was  interested,  by  her  failing  to  perform  the  duty  intrusted 
to  her ;  and  ended  by  asking  his  pardon  for  leaving  the 
house  secretly,  and  by  begging,  as  a  last  favor,  that  no 
search  might  ever  be  made  for  her.  Having  sealed  this 
short  note,  and  left  it  on  her  table,  with  her  master's  name 
written  outside,  she  listened  again  at  the  door;  and,  after 
satisfying  herself  that  no  one  was  yet  stirring,  began  to  de 
scend  the  stairs  at  Porthgenna  Tower  for  the  last  time. 

At  the  entrance  of  the  passage  leading  to  the  nursery  she 
stopped.  The  tears  which  she  had  restrained  since  leaving 
her  room  began  to  flow  again.  Urgent  as  her  reasons  now 
were  for  effecting  her  departure  without  a  moment's  loss  of 
time,  she  advanced,  with  the  strangest  inconsistency,  a  few 
steps  toward  the  nursery  door.  Before  she  had  gone  far,  a 
slight  noise  in  the  lower  part  of  the  house  caught  her  ear 
and  instantly  checked  her  further  progress. 

While  she  stood  doubtful,  the  grief  at  her  heart — a  greater 
grief  than  any  she  had  yet  betrayed — rose  irresistibly  to  her 
lips,  and  burst  from  them  in  one  deep  gasping  sob.  The 
sound  of  it  seemed  to  terrify  her  into  a  sense  of  the  danger 
of  her  position,  if  she  delayed  a  moment  longer.  She  ran  out 


34  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

again  to  the  stairs,  reached  the  kitchen-floor  in  safety,  and 
made  her  escape  by  the  garden  door  which  the  servant  had 
opened  for  her  at  the  dawn  of  the  morning. 

On  getting  clear  of  the  premises  at  Porthgenna  Tower,  in 
stead  of  taking  the  nearest  path  over  the  moor  that  led  to 
the  high-road,  she  diverged  to  the  church  ;  but  stopped  before 
she  came  to  it,  at  the  public  well  of  the  neighborhood,  which 
had  been  sunk  near  the  cottages  of  the  Porthgenna  fishermen. 
Cautiously  looking  round  her,  she  dropped  into  the  well  the 
little  rusty  key  which  she  had  brought  out  of  the  Myrtle 
Room;  then  hurried  on,  and  entered  the  church-yard.  She 
directed  her  course  straight  to  one  of  the  graves,  situated  a 
little  apart  from  the  rest.  On  the  head-stone  were  inscribed 
these  words  : 

SACKED    TO    THE    MEMORY 
OF 


AGED    26    YEARS. 

HE    MET    WITH     HIS    DEATH 

THROUGH    THE    FALL    OF   A    ROCK 

IN 

PORTHGENNA   MINE, 
DECEMBER    17TH,1823. 

Gathering  a  few  leaves  of  grass  from  the  grave,  Sarah  open 
ed  the  little  book  of  Wesley's  Hymns  which  she  had  brought 
with  her  from  the  bedroom  of  Porthgenna  Tower,  and  placed 
the  leaves  delicately  and  carefully  between  the  pages.  As 
she  did  this,  the  wind  blew  open  the  title-page  of  the  Hymns, 
and  displayed  this  inscription  on  it,  written  in  large,  clumsy 
characters  —  "  Sarah  Leeson,  her  book.  The  gift  of  Hugh 
Polwheal." 

Having  secured  the  blades  of  grass  between  the  pages  of 
the  book,  she  retraced  her  way  toward  the  path  leading  to 
the  high-road.  Arrived  on  the  moor,  she  took  out  of  her 
apron  pocket  the  parchment  labels  that  had  been  cut  from 
the  keys,  and  scattered  them  under  the  furze-bushes. 

"  Gone,"  she  said,  "  as  I  am  gone  !  God  help  and  forgive 
me  —  it  is  all  done  and  over  now  !" 

With  those  words  she  turned  her  back  on  the  old  house 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  35 

and  the  sea-view  below  it,  and  followed  the  moorland  path 
on  her  way  to  the  high-road. 

Four  hours  afterward  Captain  Treverton  desired  one  of  the 
servants  at  Porthgenna  Tower  to  inform  Sarah  Leeson  that 
he  wished  to  hear  all  she  had  to  tell  him  of  the  dying  mo 
ments  of  her  mistress.  The  messenger  returned  with  looks 
and  words  of  amazement,  and  with  the  letter  that  Sarah  had 
addressed  to  her  master  in  his  hand. 

The  moment  Captain  Treverton  had  read  the  letter,  he  or 
dered  an  immediate  search  to  be  made  after  the  missing 
woman.  She  was  so  easy  to  describe  and  to  recognize,  by 
the  premature  grayness  of  her  hair,  by  the  odd,  scared  look  in 
her  eyes,  and  by  her  habit  of  constantly  talking  .to  herself, 
that  she  was  traced  with  certainty  as  far  as  Truro.  In  that 
large  town  the  track  of  her  was  lost,  and  never  recovered 
again. 

Rewards  were  offered  ;  the  magistrates  of  the  district  were 
interested  in  the  case ;  all  that  wealth  and  power  could  do  to 
discover  her  was  done — and  done  in  vain.  No  clew  was  found 
to  suggest  a  suspicion  of  her  whereabouts,  or  to  help  in  the 
slightest  degree  toward  explaining  the  nature  of  the  secret 
at  which  she  had  hinted  in  her  letter.  Her  master  never  saw 
her  again,  never  heard  of  her  again,  after  the  morning  of  the 
twenty-third  of  August,  eighteen  hundred  and  twenty-nine. 


36  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 


BOOK    II. 

CHAPTER  I. 

FIFTEEN    YEARS    AFTER, 

THE  church  of  Long  Beckley  (a  large  agricultural  village 
in  one  of  the  midland  counties  of  England),  although  a  build 
ing  in  no  way  remarkable  either  for  its  size,  its  architecture, 
or  its  antiquity,  possesses,  nevertheless,  one  advantage  which 
mercantile  London  has  barbarously  denied  to  the  noble  cathe 
dral  church  of  St.  Paul.  It  has  plenty  of  room  to  stand  in, 
and  it  can  consequently  be  seen  with  perfect  convenience 
from  every  point  of  view,  all  around  the  compass. 

The  large  open  space  around  the  church  can  be  approached 
in  three  different  directions.  There  is  a  road  from  the  village, 
leading  straight  to  the  principal  door.  There  is  a  broad 
gravel  walk,  which  begins  at  the  vicarage  gates,  crosses  the 
church-yard,  and  stops,  as  in  duty  bound,  at  the  vestry  en 
trance.  There  is  a  footpath  over  the  fields,  by  which  the 
lord  of  the  manor,  and  the  gentry  in  general  who  live  in  his 
august  neighborhood,  can  reach  the  side  door  of  the  build 
ing,  whenever  their  natural  humility  may  incline  them  to  en 
courage  Sabbath  observance  in  the  stables  by  going  to 
church,  like  the  lower  sort  of  worshipers,  on  their  own  legs. 

At  half-past  seven  o'clock,  on  a  certain  fine  summer  morn 
ing,  in  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and  forty-four,  if  any  ob 
servant  stranger  had  happened  to  be  standing  in  some  un 
noticed  corner  of  the  church-yard,  and  to  be  looking  about 
him  with  sharp  eyes,  he  would  probably  have  been  the  wit 
ness  of  proceedings  which  might  have  led  him  to  believe 
that  there  was  a  conspiracy  going  on  in  Long  Beckley,  of 
which  the  church  was  the  rallying-point,  and  some  of  the 
most  respectable  inhabitants  the  principal  leaders.  Suppos 
ing  him  to  have  been  looking  toward  the  vicarage  as  the 
clock  chimed  the  half-hour,  he  would  have  seen  the  vicar  of 
Long  Beckley,  the  Reverend  Doctor  Chennery,  leaving  his 
house  suspiciously,  by  the  back  way,  glancing  behind  him 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  37 

guiltily  as  he  approached  the  gravel  walk  that  led  to  the 
vestry,  stopping  mysteriously  just  outside  the  door,  and  gaz 
ing  anxiously  down  the  road  that  led  from  the  village. 

Assuming  that  our  observant  stranger  would,  upon  this, 
keep  out  of  sight,  and  look  down  the  road,  like  the  vicar,  he 
would  next  have  seen  the  clerk  of  the  church — an  austere, 
yellow-faced  man — a  Protestant  Loyola  in  appearance,  and  a 
working  shoemaker  by  trade — approaching  with  a  look  of  un 
utterable  mystery  in  his  face,  and  a  bunch  of  big  keys  in  his 
hands.  He  would  have  seen  the  vicar  nod  in  an  abstracted 
manner  to  the  clerk,  and  say,  "  Fine  morning,  Thomas. ""  Have 
you  had  your  breakfast  yet  ?"  He  would  have  heard  Thomas 
reply,  with  a  suspicious  regard  for  minute  particulars:  "  I  have 
had  a  cup  of  tea  and  a  crust,  Sir."  And  he  would  then  have 
seen  these  two  local  conspirators,  after  looking  up  with  one 
accord  at  the  church  clock,  draw  off  together  to  the  side  door 
which  commanded  a  view  of  the  footpath  across  the  fields. 

Following  them — as  our  inquisitive  stranger  could  not  fail 
to  do — he  would  have  detected  three  more  conspirators  ad 
vancing  along  the  footpath.  The  leader  of  this  treasonable 
party  was  an  elderly  gentleman,  with  a  weather-beaten  face 
and  a  bluff,  hearty  manner.  His  two  followers  were  a  young 
gentleman  and  a  young  lady,  walking  arm-in-arm,  and  talking 
together  in  whispers.  They  were  dressed  in  the  plainest 
morning  costume.  The  faces  of  both  were  rather  pale,  and 
the  manner  of  the  lady  was  a  little  flurried.  Otherwise  there 
was  nothing  remarkable  to  observe  in  them,  until  they  came 
to  the  wTicket-gate  leading  into  the  church-yard ;  and  there 
the  conduct  of  the  young  gentleman  seemed,  at  first  sight, 
rather  inexplicable.  Instead  of  holding  the  gate  open  for  the 
lady  to  pass  through,  he  hung  back,  allowed  her  to  open  it 
for  herself,  waited  till  she  had  got  to  the  church-yard  side, 
and  then,  stretching  out  his  hand  over  the  gate,  allowed  her 
to  lead  him  through  the  entrance,  as  if  he  had  suddenly 
changed  from  a  grown  man  to  a  helpless  little  child. 

Noting  this,  and  remarking  also  that,  when  the  party  from 
the  fields  had  arrived  within  greeting  distance  of  the  vicar, 
and  when  the  clerk  had  used  his  bunch  of  keys  to  open  the 
church-door,  the  young  lady's  companion  was  led  into  the 
building  (this  time  by  Doctor  Chennery's  hand),  as  he  had 
been  previously  led  through  the  wicket-gate,  our  observant 


38  TIIE    DEAD    SECRET. 

stranger  must  have  arrived  at  one  inevitable  conclusion — 
that  the  person  requiring  such  assistance  as  this  was  suffer 
ing  under  the  affliction  of  blindness.  Startled  a  little  by 
that  discovery,  he  would  have  been  still  further  amazed,  if  he 
had  looked  into  the  church,  by  seeing  the  blind  man  and  the 
young  lady  standing  together  before  the  altar  rails,  with  the 
elderly  gentleman  in  parental  attendance.  Any  suspicions 
he  might  now  entertain  that  the  bond  which  united  the  con 
spirators  at  that  early  hour  of  the  morning  was  of  the  hy 
meneal  sort,  and  that  the  object  of  their  plot  was  to  celebrate 
a  wedding  with  the  strictest  secrecy,  would  have  been  con 
firmed  in  five  minutes  by  the  appearance  of  Doctor  Chennery 
from  the  vestry  in  full  canonicals,  and  by  the  reading  of  the 
marriage  service  in  the  reverend  gentleman's  most  harmoni 
ous  officiating  tones.  The  ceremony  concluded,  the  attendant 
stranger  must  have  been  more  perplexed  than  ever  by  ob 
serving  that  the  persons  concerned  in  it  all  separated,  the 
moment  the  signing,  the  kissing,  and  congratulating  duties 
proper  to  the  occasion  had  been  performed,  and  quickly  re 
tired  in  the  various  directions  by  which  they  had  approached 
the  church. 

Leaving  the  clerk  to  return  by  the  village  road,  the  bride, 
bridegroom,  and  elderly  gentleman  to  turn  back  by  the  foot 
path  over  the  fields,  and  the  visionary  stranger  of  these  pages 
to  vanish  out  of  them  in  any  direction  that  he  pleases — let 
us  follow  Doctor  Chennery  to  the  vicarage  breakfast-table, 
and  hear  what  he  has  to  say  about  his  professional  exertions 
of  the  morning  in  the  familiar  atmosphere  of  his  own  family 
circle. 

The  persons  assembled  at  the  breakfast  were,  first,  Mr. 
Phippen,  a  guest ;  secondly,  Miss  Sturch,  a  governess ;  third 
ly,  fourthly,  and  fifthly,  Miss  Louisa  Chennery  (aged  eleven 
years),  Miss  Amelia  Chennery  (aged  nine  years),  and  Master 
Robert  Chennery  (aged  eight  years).  There  was  no  mother's 
face  present,  to  make  the  household  picture  complete.  Doc 
tor  Chennery  had  been  a  widower  since  the  birth  of  his  young 
est  child. 

The  guest  was  an  old  college  acquaintance  of  the  vicar's, 
and  he  was  supposed  to  be  now  staying  at  Long  Beckley  for 
the  benefit  of  his  health.  Most  men  of  any  character  at  all 
contrive  to  get  a  reputation  of  some  sort  which  individualizes 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  39 

them  in  the  social  circle  amid  which  they  move.  Mr.  Phip 
pen  was  a  man  of  some  little  character,  and  he  lived  with 
great  distinction  in  the  estimation  of  his  friends  on  the  repu 
tation  of  being  A  Martyr  to  Dyspepsia. 

Wherever  Mr.  Phippen  went,  the  woes  of  Mr.  Phippen's 
stomach  went  with  him.  He  dieted  himself  publicly,  and 
physicked  himself  publicly.  He  was  so  intensely  occupied 
with  himself  and  his  maladies,  that  he  would  let  a  chance 
acquaintance  into  the  secret  of  the  condition  of  his  tongue  at 
five  minutes'  notice ;  being  just  as  perpetually  ready  to  dis 
cuss  the  state  of  his  digestion  as  people  in  general  are  to  dis 
cuss  the  state  of  the  weather.  On  this  favorite  subject,  as 
on  all  others,  he  spoke  with  a  wheedling  gentleness  of  man 
ner,  sometimes  in  softly  mournful,  sometimes  in  languidly 
sentimental  tones.  His  politeness  was  of  the  oppressively 
affectionate  sort,  and  he  used  the  word  "dear"  continually 
in  addressing  himself  to  others.  Personally,  he  could  not  be 
called  a  handsome  man.  His  eyes  were  watery,  large,  and 
light  gray ;  they  were  always  rolling  from  side  to  side  in  a 
state  of  moist  admiration  of  something  or  somebody.  His 
nose  was  long,  drooping,  profoundly  melancholy — if  such  an 
expression  may  be  permitted  in  reference  to  that  particular 
feature.  For  the  rest,  his  lips  had  a  lachrymose  twist ;  his 
stature  was  small ;  his  head  large,  bald,  and  loosely  set  on 
his  shoulders ;  his  manner  of  dressing  himself  eccentric,  on 
the  side  of  smartness  ;  his  age  about  five-and-forty ;  his  con 
dition  that  of  a  single  man.  Such  was  Mr.  Phippen,  the  Mar 
tyr  to  Dyspepsia,  and  the  guest  of  the  vicar  of  Long  Beckley. 

Miss  Sturch,  the  governess,  may  be  briefly  and  accurately 
described  as  a  young  lady  who  had  never  been  troubled  with 
an  idea  or  a  sensation  since  the  day  when  she  was  born.  She 
was  a  little,  plump,  quiet,  white -skinned,  smiling,  neatly 
dressed  girl,  wound  up  accurately  to  the  performance  of  cer 
tain  duties  at  certain  times ;  and  possessed  of  an  inexhausti 
ble  vocabulary  of  commonplace  talk,  which  dribbled  placidly 
out  of  her  lips  whenever  it  was  called  for,  always  in  the  same 
quantity,  and  always  of  the  same  quality,  at  every  hour  in 
the  day,  and  through  every  change  in  the  seasons.  Miss 
Sturch  never  laughed,  and  never  cried,  but  took  the  safe  mid 
dle  course  of  smiting  perpetually.  She  smiled  when  she  came 
down  on  a  morning  in  January,  and  said  it  was  very  cold. 


40  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

She  smiled  when  she  came  down  on  a  morning  in  July,  and 
said  it  was  very  hot.  She  smiled  when  the  bishop  came  once 
a  year  to  see  the  vicar ;  she  smiled  when  the  butcher's  boy 
came  every  morning  for  orders.  Let  what  might  happen  at 
the  vicarage,  nothing  ever  jerked  Miss  Sturch  out  of  the  one 
smooth  groove  in  which  she  ran  perpetually,  always  at  the 
same  pace.  If  she  had  lived  in  a  royalist  family,  during  the 
civil  wars  in  England,  she  would  have  rung  for  the  cook,  to 
order  dinner,  on  the  morning  of  the  execution  of  Charles  the 
First.  If  Shakspeare  had  come  back  to  life  again,  and  had 
called  at  the  vicarage  at  six  o'clock  on  Saturday  evening,  to 
explain  to  Miss  Sturch  exactly  what  his  views  were  in  com 
posing  the  tragedy  of  Hamlet,  she  would  have  smiled  and 
said  it  was  extremely  interesting,  until  the  striking  of  seven 
o'clock  ;  at  which  time  she  would  have  left  him  in  the  middle 
of  a  sentence,  to  superintend  the  housemaid  in  the  verification 
of  the  washing-book.  A  very  estimable  young  person,  Miss 
Sturch  (as  the  ladies  of  Long  Beckley  were  accustomed  to 
say) ;  so  judicious  with  the  children,  and  so  attached  to  her 
household  duties ;  such  a  well-regulated  mind,  and  such  a 
crisp  touch  on  the  piano  ;  just  nice-looking  enough,  just  well- 
dressed  enough,  just  talkative  enough  ;  not  quite  old  enough, 
perhaps,  and  a  little  too  much  inclined  to  be  embraceably 
plump  about  the  region  of  the  waist — but,  on  the  whole,  a 
irxost  estimable  young  person — very  much  so,  indeed. 

On  the  characteristic  peculiarities  of  Miss  Sturch's  pupils, 
it  is  not  necessary  to  dwell  at  very  great  length.  Miss  Lou 
isa's  habitual  weakness  was  an  inveterate  tendency  to  catch 
cold.  Miss  Amelia's  principal  defect  was  a  disposition  to 
gratify  her  palate  by  eating  supplementary  dinners  and  break 
fasts  at  unauthorized  times  and  seasons.  Master  Robert's 
most  noticeable  failings  were  caused  by  alacrity  in  tearing 
his  clothes,  and  obtuseness  in  learning  the  Multiplication 
Table.  The  virtues  of  all  three  were  of  much  the  same  nat 
ure — they  were  well  grown,  they  were  genuine  children,  and 
they  were  boisterously  fond  of  Miss  Sturch. 

To  complete  the  gallery  of  family  portraits,  an  outline,  at 
the  least,  must  be  attempted  of  the  vicar  himself.  Doctor 
Chennery  was,  in  a  physical  point  of  view,  a  credit  to  the 
Establishment  to  which  he  was  attached.  He  stood  six  feet 
two  in  his  shooting-shoes ;  he  weighed  fifteen  stone ;  he  was 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  41 

the  best  bowler  in  the  Long  Beckley  cricket-club ;  he  was  a 
strictly  orthodox  man  in  the  matter  of  wine  and  mutton ;  he 
never  started  disagreeable  theories  about  people's  future  des 
tinies  in  the  pulpit,  never  quarreled  with  any  body  out  of  the 
pulpit,  never  buttoned  up  his  pockets  when  the  necessities 
of  his  poor  brethren  (Dissenters  included)  pleaded  with  him 
to  open  them.  His  course  through  the  world  was  a  steady 
march  along  the  high  and  dry  middle  of  a  safe  turnpike-road. 
The  serpentine  side-paths  of  controversy  might  open  as  allur 
ingly  as  they  pleased  on  his  right  hand  and  on  his  left,  but 
he  kept  on  his  way  sturdily,  and  never  regarded  them.  In 
novating  young  recruits  in  the  Church  army  might  entrap- 
pingly  open  the  Thirty-nine  Articles  under  his  very  nose,  but 
the  veteran's  wary  eye  never  looked  a  hair's-breadth  further 
than  his  own  signature  at  the  bottom  of  them.  He  knew  as 
little  as  possible  of  theology,  he  had  never  given  the  Privy 
Council  a  minute's  trouble  in  the  whole  course  of  his  life,  he 
was  innocent  of  all  meddling  with  the  reading  or  writing  of 
pamphlets,  and  he  was  quite  incapable  of  finding  his  way  to 
the  platform  of  Exeter  Hall.  In  short,  he  was  the  most  un- 
clerical  of  clergymen — but,  for  all  that,  he  had  such  a  figure 
for  a  surplice  as  is  seldom  seen.  Fifteen  stone  weight  of  up 
right  muscular  flesh,  without  an  angry  spot  or  sore  place  in 
any  part  of  it,  has  the  merit  of  suggesting  stability,  at  any 
rate — an  excellent  virtue  in  pillars  of  all  kinds,  but  an  espe 
cially  precious  quality,  at  the  present  time,  in  a  pillar  of  the 
Church. 

As  soon  as  the  vicar  entered  the  breakfast-parlor,  the  chil 
dren  assailed  him  with  a  chorus  of  shouts.  He  was  a  severe 
disciplinarian  in  the  observance  of  punctuality  at  meal-times; 
and  he  now  stood  convicted  by  the  clock  of  being  too  late 
for  breakfast  by  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

"  Sorry  to  have  kept  you  waiting,  Miss  Sturch,"  said  the 
vicar ;  "  but  I  have  a  good  excuse  for  being  late  this  morning." 

"Pray  don't  mention  it,  Sir,"  said  Miss  Sturch,  blandly 
rubbing  her  plump  little  hands  one  over  the  other.  "  A  beau 
tiful  morning.  I  fear  we  shall  have  another  warm  day. — Rob 
ert,  my  love,  your  elbow  is  on  the  table. — A  beautiful  morn 
ing,  indeed !" 

"Stomach  still  out  of  order — eh,  Phippen?"  asked  the  vic 
ar,  beginning  to  carve  the  ham. 


42  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

Mr.  Phippen  shook  his  large  head  dolefully,  placed  his  yel 
low  forefinger,  ornamented  with  a  large  turquoise  ring,  on  the 
centre  check  of  his  light -green  summer  waistcoat  —  looked 
piteously  at  Doctor  Chennery,  and  sighed — removed  the  fin 
ger,  and  produced  from  the  breast  pocket  of  his  wrapper  a  lit 
tle  mahogany  case — took  out  of  it  a  neat  pair  of  apothecary's 
scales,  with  the  accompanying  weights,  a  morsel  of  ginger, 
and  a  highly  polished  silver  nutmeg-grater.  "Dear  Miss 
Sturch  will  pardon  an  invalid  ?"  said  Mr.  Phippen,  beginning 
to  grate  the  ginger  feebly  into  the  nearest  tea-cup. 

"  Guess  what  has  made  me  a  quarter  of  an  hour  late  this 
morning,"  said  the  vicar,  looking  mysteriously  all  round  the 
table. 

"Lying  in  bed,  papa,"  cried  the  three  children,  clapping 
their  hands  in  triumph. 

"  What  do  you  say,  Miss  Sturch  ?"  asked  Doctor  Chennery. 

Miss  Sturch  smiled  as  usual,  rubbed  her  hands  as  usual, 
cleared  her  throat  softly  as  usual,  looked  at  the  tea-urn,  and 
begged,  with  the  most  graceful  politeness,  to  be  excused  if 
she  said  nothing. 

"Your  turn  now,  Phippen,"  said  the  vicar.  "  Come,  guess 
what  has  kept  me  late  this  morning." 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  Mr.  Phippen,  giving  the  Doctor  a 
brotherly  squeeze  of  the  hand,  "  don't  ask  me  to  guess — I 
know  !  I  saw  what  you  eat  at  dinner  yesterday — I  saw  what 
you  drank  after  dinner.  No  digestion  could  stand  it — not 
even  yours.  Guess  what  has  made  you  late  this  morning? 
Pooh  !  pooh  !  I  know.  You  dear,  good  soul,  you  have  been 
taking  physic !" 

"Hav'n't  touched  a  drop,  thank  God,  for  the  last  ten 
years!"  said  Doctor  Chennery,  with  a  look  of  devout  grati 
tude.  "  No,  no ;  you're  all  wrong.  The  fact  is,  I  have  been 
to  church ;  and  what  do  you  think  I  have  been  doing  there? 
Listen,  Miss  Sturch — listen,  girls,  with  all  your  ears.  Poor 
blind  young  Frankland  is  a  happy  man  at  last — I  have  mar 
ried  him  to  our  dear  Rosamond  Treverton  this  very  morn 


ing !" 


"  Without  telling  us,  papa !"  cried  the  two  girls  together 
in  their  shrillest  tones  of  vexation  and  surprise.  "  Without 
telling  us,  when  you  know  how  we  should  have  liked  to  see 
it!" 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  43 

"That  was  the  very  reason  why  I  did  not  tell  you,  my 
dears,"  answered  the  vicar.  "  Young  Frankland  has  not  got 
so  used  to  his  affliction  yet,  poor  fellow,  as  to  bear  being 
publicly  pitied  and  stared  at  in  the  character  of  a  blind 
bridegroom.  He  had  such  a  nervous  horror  of  being  an 
object  of  curiosity  on  his  wedding-day,  and  Rosamond,  like 
a  kind-hearted  girl  as  she  is,  was  so  anxious  that  his  slightest 
caprices  should  be  humored,  that  we  settled  to  have  the 
wedding  at  an  hour  in  the  morning  when  no  idlers  were 
likely  to  be  lounging  about  the  neighborhood  of  the  church. 
I  \yas  bound  over  to  the  strictest  secrecy  about  the  day,  and 
so  was  my  clerk  Thomas.  Excepting  us  two,  and  the  bride 
and  bridegroom,  and  the  bride's  father,  Captain  Treverton, 
nobody  knew — " 

"Treverton  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Phippen,  holding  his  tea-cup, 
with  the  grated  ginger  in  the  bottom  of  it,  to  be  filled  by 
Miss  Sturch.  "  Treverton!  (No  more  tea,  dear  Miss  Sturch.) 
How  very  remarkable !  I  know  the  name.  (Fill  up  with 
water,  if  you  please.)  Tell  me,  my  dear  doctor  (many,  many 
thanks ;  no  sugar — it  turns  acid  on  the  stomach),  is  this  Miss 
Treverton  whom  you  have  been  marrying  (many  thanks 
again ;  no  milk,  either)  one  of  the  Cornish  Trevertons  ?" 

"To  be  sure  she  is!"  rejoined  the  vicar.  "Her  father, 
Captain  Treverton,  is  the  head  of  the  family.  Not  that 
there's  much  family  to  speak  of  now.  The  Captain,  and 
Rosamond,  and  that  whimsical  old  brute  of  an  uncle  of  hers, 
Andrew  Treverton,  are  the  last  left  now  of  the,  old  stock — a 
rich  family,  and  a  fine  family,  in  former  times — good  friends 
to  Church  and  State,  you  know,  and  all  that — " 

"  Do  you  approve,  Sir,  of  Amelia  having  a  second  helping 
of  bread  and  marmalade?"  asked  Miss  Sturch,  appealing  to 
Doctor  Chennery,  with  the  most  perfect  unconsciousness  of 
interrupting  him.  Having  no  spare  room  in  her  mind  for 
putting  things  away  in  until  the  appropriate  time  came  for 
bringing  them  out,  Miss  Sturch  always  asked  questions  and 
made  remarks  the  moment  they  occurred  to  her,  without 
waiting  for  the  beginning,  middle,  or  end  of  any  conversa 
tions  that  might  be  proceeding  in  her  presence.  She  in 
variably  looked  the  part  of  a  listener  to  perfection,  but  she 
never  acted  it  except  in  the  case  of  talk  that  was  aimed 
point-blank  at  her  own  ears. 


44  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

"  Oh,  give  her  a  second  helping,  by  all  means !"  said  the 
vicar,  carelessly ;  "  if  she  must  over-eat  herself,  she  may  as 
well  do  it  on  bread  and  marmalade  as  on  any  thing  else." 

"  My  dear,  good  soul,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Phippen,  "  look  what 
a  wreck  I  am,  and  don't  talk  in  that  shockingly  thoughtless 
way  of  letting  our  sweet  Amelia  over-eat  herself.  Load  the 
stomach  in  youth,  and  what  becomes  of  the  digestion  in  age? 
The  thing  which  vulgar  people  call  the  inside — I  appeal  to 
Miss  Sturch's  interest  in  her  charming  pupil  as  an  excuse  for 
going  into  physiological  particulars — is,  in  point  of  fact,  an 
Apparatus.  Digestively  considered,  Miss  Sturch,  even  the 
fairest  and  youngest  of  us  is  an  Apparatus.  Oil  our  wheels, 
if  you  like ;  but  clog  them  at  your  peril.  Farinaceous  pud 
dings  and  mutton-chops ;  mutton-chops  and  farinaceous  pud 
dings — those  should  be  the  parents'  watch-words,  if  I  had  my 
way,  from  one  end  of  England  to  the  other.  Look  here,  my 
sweet  child — look  at  me.  There  is  no  fun,  dear,  about  these 
little  scales,  but  dreadful  earnest.  See  !  I  put  in  the  balance 
on  one  side  dry  bread  (stale,  dry  bread,  Amelia  !),  and  on  the 
other  some  ounce  weights.  '  Mr.  Phippen,  eat  by  weight. 
Mr.  Phippen  !  eat  the  same  quantity,  day  by  day,  to  a  hair's- 
breadth.  Mr.  Phippen  !  exceed  your  allowance  (though  it  is 
only  stale,  dry  bread)  if  you  dare  !'  Amelia,  love,  this  is  not 
fun — this  is  what  the  doctors  tell  me — the  doctors,  my  child, 
who  have  been  searching  my  Apparatus  through  and  through 
for  thirty  years  past  with  little  pills,  and  have  not  found  out 
where  my  wheels  are  clogged  yet.  Think  of  that,  Amelia — 
think  of  Mr.  Phippen's  clogged  Apparatus — 'and  say  *  No, 
thank  you,'  next  time.  Miss  Sturch,  I  beg  a  thousand  par 
dons  for  intruding  on  your  province ;  but  my  interest  in  that 
sweet  child — Chennery,  you  dear,  good  soul,  what  were  we 
talking  about?  Ah!  the  bride — the  interesting  bride  !  And 
so  she  is  one  of  the  Cornish  Trevertons?  I  knew  something 
of  Andrew  years  ago.  He  was  a  bachelor,  like  myself,  Miss 
Sturch.  His  Apparatus  was  out  of  order,  like  mine,  dear 
Amelia.  Not  at  all  like  his  brother,  the  Captain,  I  should 
suppose?  And  so  she  is  married?  A  charming  girl,  I  have 
no  doubt.  A  charming  girl !" 

"No  better,  truer,  prettier  girl  in  the  world,"  said  the 
vicar. 

"  A  very  lively,  energetic  person,"  remarked  Miss  Sturch. 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  45 

"How  I  shall  miss  her!"  cried  Miss  Louisa.  "Nobody 
else  amused  me  as  Rosamond  did,  when  I  was  laid  up  with 
that  last  bad  cold  of  mine." 

"  She  used  to  give  us  such  nice  little  early  supper-parties," 
said  Miss  Amelia. 

"  She  was  the  only  girl  I  ever  saw  who  was  fit  to  play 
with  boys,"  said  Master  Robert.  "  She  could  catch  a  ball, 
Mr.  Phippen,  Sir,  with  one  hand,  and  go  down  a  slide  with 
both  her  legs  together." 

"  Bless  me  !"  said  Mr.  Phippen.  "  What  an  extraordinary 
wife  for  a  blind  man  !  You  said  he  was  blind  from  his  birth, 
my  dear  doctor,  did  you  not?  Let  me  see,  what  was  his  name? 
You  will  not  bear  too  hardly  on  my  loss  of  memory,  Miss 
Sturch?  When  indigestion  has  done  with  the  body,  it  begins 
to  prey  on  the  mind.  Mr.  Frank  Something,  was  it  not  ?" 

"No,  no — Frankland,"  answered  the  vicar,  "Leonard  Frank- 
land.  And  not  blind  from  his  birth  by  any  means.  It  is  not 
much  more  than  a  year  ago  since  he  could  see  almost  as  well 
as  any  of  us." 

"  An  accident,  I  suppose  !"  said  Mr.  Phippen.  "  You  will 
excuse  me  if  I  take  the  arm-chair?  —  a  partially  reclining 
posture  is  of  great  assistance  to  me  after  meals.  So  an  ac 
cident  happened  to  his  eyes  ?  Ah,  what  a  delightfully  easy 
chair  to  sit  in  !" 

"  Scarcely  an  accident,"  said  Doctor  Chennery.  "  Leonard 
Frankland  was  a  difficult  child  to  bring  up :  great  constitu 
tional  weakness,  you  know,  at  first.  He  seemed  to  get  over 
that  with  time,  and  grew  into  a  quiet,  sedate,  orderly  sort 
of  boy — as  unlike  my  son  there  as  possible — very  amiable, 
and  what  you  call  easy  to  deal  with.  Well,  he  had  a  turn 
for  mechanics  (I  am  telling  you  all  this  to  make  you  under 
stand  about  his  blindness),  and,  after  veering  from  one  occu 
pation  of  that  sort  to  another,  he  took  at  last  to  watch-making. 
Curious  amusement  for  a  boy ;  but  any  thing  that  required 
delicacy  of  touch,  and  plenty  of  patience  and  perseverance, 
was  just  the  thing  to  amuse  and  occupy  Leonard.  I  alwa}7s 
said  to  his  father  and  mother,  'Get  him  off  that  stool,  break 
his  inagnifying-glasses,  send  him  to  me,  and  I'll  give  him  a 
back  at  leap-frog,  and  teach  him  the  use  of  a  bat.'  But  it 
was  no  use.  His  parents  knew  best,  I  suppose,  and  they 
said  he  must  be  humored.  Well,  things  went  on  smoothly 

C 


46  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

euough  for  some  time,  till  he  got  another  long  illness — as  I 
believe,  from  not  taking  exercise  enough.  As  soon  as  he  be 
gan  to  get  round,  back  he  went  to  his  old  watch-making  oc 
cupations  again.  But  the  bad  end  of  it  all  was  coming. 
About  the  last  work  he  did,  poor  fellow,  was  the  repairing  of 
my  watch  —  here  it  is;  goes  as  regular  as  a  steam-engine. 
I  hadn't  got  it  back  into  my  fob  very  long  before  I  heard 
that  he  was  getting  a  bad  pain  at  the  back  of  his  head,  and 
that  he  saw  all  sorts  of  moving  spots  before  his  eyes.  '  String 
him  up  with  lots  of  port  wine,  and  give  him  three  hours  a 
day  on  the  back  of  a  quiet  pony' — that  was  my  advice.  In 
stead  of  taking  it,  they  sent  for  doctors  from  London,  and 
blistered  him  behind  the  ears  and  between  the  shoulders, 
and  drenched  the  lad  with  mercury,  and  moped  him  up  in 
a  dark  room.  No  use.  The  sight  got  worse  and  worse, 
flickered  and  flickered,  and  went  out  at  last  like  the  flame 
of  a  candle.  His  mother  died — luckily  for  her,  poor  soul — 
before  that  happened.  His  father  was  half  out  of  his  mind : 
took  him  to  oculists  in  London  and  oculists  in  Paris.  All 
they  did  was  to  call  the  blindness  by  a  long  Latin  name, 
and  to  say  that  it  was  hopeless  and  useless  to  try  an  opera 
tion.  Some  of  them  said  it  was  the  result  of  the  long  weak 
nesses  from  which  he  had  twice  suffered  after  illness.  Some 
said  it  was  an  apoplectic  effusion  in  his  brain.  All  of  them 
shook  their  heads  when  they  heard  of  the  watch-making.  So 
they  brought  him  back  home,  blind ;  blind  he  is  now ;  and 
blind  he  will  remain,  poor  dear  fellow,  for  the  rest  of  his 
life." 

"  You  shock  me  ;  my  dear  Chennery,  you  shock  me  dread 
fully,"  said  Mr.  Phippen.  "  Especially  when  you  state  that 
theory  about  long  weakness  after  illness.  Good  Heavens ! 
Why,  I  have  had  long  weaknesses — I  have  got  them  now. 
Spots  did  he  see  before  his  eyes  ?  I  see  spots,  black  spots, 
dancing  black  spots,  dancing  black  bilious  spots.  LTpon  my 
word  of  honor,  Chennery,  this  comes  home  to  me — my  sym 
pathies  are  painfully  acute — I  feel  this  blind  story  in  every 
nerve  of  my  body ;  I  do,  indeed  !" 

"  You  would  hardly  know  that  Leonard  was  blind,  to  look 
at  him,"  said  Miss  Louisa,,  striking  into  the  conversation  with 
a  view  to  restoring  Mr.  Phippen's  equanimity.  "  Except 
that  his  eyes  look  quieter  than  other  people's,  there  seems 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  47 

no  difference  in  them  now.  Who  was  that  famous  character 
you  told  us  about,  Miss  Sturch,  who  was  blind,  and  didn't 
show  it  any  more  than  Leonard  Frankland  ?" 

"Milton,  my  love.  I  begged  you  to  remember  that  he 
was  the  most  famous  of  British  epic  poets,"  answered  Miss 
Sturch  with  suavity.  "He  poetically  describes  his  blindness 
as  being  caused  by  '  so  thick  a  drop  serene.'  You  shall  read 
about  it,  Louisa.  After  we  have  had  a  little  French,  we  will 
have  a  little  Milton,  this  morningi  Hush,  love,  your  papa  is 
speaking." 

"  Poor  young  Frankland  !"  said  the  vicar,  warmly.  "  That 
good,  tender,  noble  creature  I  married  him  to  this  morning 
seems  sent  as  a  consolation  to  him  in  his  affliction.  If  ^ny 
human  being  can  make  him  happy  for  the  rest  of  his  life,  Ros 
amond  Treverton  is  the  girl  to  do  it." 

"She  has  made  a  sacrifice,"  said  Mr.  Phippen;  "  but  I  like 
her  for  that,  having  made  a  sacrifice  myself  in  remaining  sin 
gle.  It  seems  indispensable,  indeed,  on  the  score  of  human 
ity,  that  I  should  do  so.  How  could  I  conscientiously  inflict 
such  a  digestion  as  mine  on  a  member  of  the  fairer  portion 
of  creation  ?  No ;  I  am  a  sacrifice  in  my  own  proper  person, 
and  I  have  a  fellow-feeling  for  others  who  are  like  me.  Did 
she  cry  much,  Chennery,  when  you  were  marrying  her?" 

"Cry!"  exclaimed  the  vicar,  contemptuously.  "Rosamond 
Treverton  is  not  one  of  the  puling,  sentimental  sort,  I  can  tell 
you.  A  fine,  buxom,  warm-hearted,  quick-tempered  girl,  who 
looks  what  she  means  when  she  tells  a  man  she  is  going 
to  marry  him.  And,  mind  you,  she  has  been  tried.  If  she 
hadn't  loved  him  with  all  her  heart  and  soul,  she  might  have 
been  free  months  ago  to  marry  any  body  she  pleased.  They 
were  engaged  long  before  this  cruel  affliction  befell  young 
Frankland — the  fathers,  on  both  sides,  having  lived  as  near 
neighbors  in  these  parts  for  years.  Well,  when  the  blind 
ness  came,  Leonard  at  once  offered  to  release  Rosamond  from 
her  engagement.  You  should  have  read  the  letter  she  wrote 
to  him,  Phippen,  upon  that.  I  don't  mind  confessing  that  I 
blubbered  like  a  baby  over  it  when  they  showed  it  to  me.  I 
should  have  married  them  at  once  the  instant  I  read  it,  but 
old  Frankland  was  a  fidgety,  punctilious  kind  of  man,  and  he 
insisted  on  a  six  months'  probation,  so  that  she  might  be  cer 
tain  of  knowing  her  own  ruind.  He  died  before  the  term  was 


48  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

out,  and  that  caused  the  marriage  to  be  put  off  again.  But 
no  delays  could  alter  Rosamond  —  six  years,  instead  of  six 
months,  would  not  have  changed  her.  There  she  was  this 
morning  as  fond  of  that  poor,  patient  blind  fellow  as  she  was 
the  first  day  they  were  engaged.  '  You  shall  never  know  a  sad 
moment,  Lenny,  if  I  can  help  it,  as  long  as  you  live' — these 
were  the  first  words  she  said  to  him  when  we  all  came  out 
of  church.  'I  hear  you,  Rosamond,'  said  I.  *  And  you  shall 
judge  me,  too,  Doctor,'  says  she,  quick  as  lightning.  'We 
will  come  back  to  Long  Beckley,  and  you  shall  ask  Lenny  if 
I  have  not  kept  my  word.'  With  that  she  gave  me  a  kiss 
that  you  might  have  heard  down  here  at  the  vicarage,  bless 
her  heart !  We'll  drink  her  health  after  dinner,  Miss  Sturch 
— we'll  drink  both  their  healths,  Phippen,  in  a  bottle  of  the 
best  wine  I  have  in  my  cellar." 

"  In  a  glass  of  toast-and-water,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned, 
if  you  will  allow  me,"  said  Mr.  Phippen,  mournfully.  "  But, 
my  dear  Chennery,  when  you  were  talking  of  the  fathers  of 
these  two  interesting  young  people,  you  spoke  of  their  living 
as  near  neighbors  here,  at  Long  Beckley.  My  memory  is 
impaired,  as  I  am  painfully  aware;  but  I  thought  Captain 
Treverton  was  the  eldest  of  the  two  brothers,  and  that  he  al 
ways  lived,  when  he  was  on  shore,  at  the  family  place  in 
Cornwall?" 

"  So  he  did,"  returned  the  vicar,  "  in  his  wife's  lifetime. 
But  since  her  death,  which  happened  as  long  ago  as  the  year 
'twenty -nine — let  me  see,  we  are  now  in  the  year  'forty-four 
— and  that  makes — " 

The  vicar  stopped  for  an  instant  to  calculate,  and  looked  at 
Miss  Sturch. 

"  Fifteen  years  ago,  Sir,"  said  Miss  Sturch,  offering  the  ac 
commodation  of  a  little  simple  subtraction  to  the  vicar,  with 
her  blandest  smile. 

"  Of  course,"  continued  Doctor  Chennery.  "  Well,  since 
Mrs.  Treverton  died,  fifteen  years  ago,  Captain  Treverton  has 
never  been  near  Porthgenna  Tower.  And,  what  is  more, 
Phippen,  at  the  first  opportunity  he  could  get,  he  sold  the 
place — sold  it,  out  and  out,  mine,  fisheries,  and  all — for  forty 
thousand  pounds." 

"  You  don't  say  so  !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Phippen.  "  Did  he 
find  the  air  unhealthy  ?  I  should  think  the  local  produce,  in 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  49 

the  way  of  food,  must  be  coarse  now,  in  those  barbarous  re 
gions  ?  Who  bought  the  place  ?" 

"  Leonard  Frankland's  father,"  said  the  vicar.  "  It  is  rath 
er  a  long  story,  that  sale  of  Porthgenna  Tower,  with  some 
curious  circumstances  involved  in  it.  Suppose  we  take  a  turn 
in  the  garden,  Phippen  ?  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it  over  my 
morning  cigar.  Miss  Sturch,  if  you  want  me,  I  shall  be  on 
the  lawn  somewhere.  Girls !  mind  you  know  your  lessons. 
Bob  !  remember  that  I've  got  a  cane  in  the  hall,  and  a  birch- 
rod  in  my  dressing-room.  Come,  Phippen,  rouse  up  out  of 
that  arm-chair.  You  won't  say  No  to  a  turn  in  the  gar 
den  ?" 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  will  say  Yes — if  you  will  kindly  lend 
me  an  umbrella,  and  allow  me  to  carry  my  camp-stool  in  my 
hand,"  said  Mr.  Phippen.  "I  am  too  weak  to  encounter  the 
sun,  and  I  can't  go  far  without  sitting  down. — The  moment  I 
feel  fatigued,  Miss  Sturch,  I  open  my  camp-stool,  and  sit  down 
any -where,  without  the  slightest  regard  for  appearances. — I 
am  ready,  Chennery,  whenever  you  are — equally  ready,  my 
good  friend,  for  the  garden  and  the  story  about  the  sale  of 
Porthgenna  Tower.  You  said  it  wras  a  curious  story,  did  you 
not  ?" 

"  I  said  there  was  some  curious  circumstances  connected 
with  it,"  replied  the  vicar.  "  And  when  you  hear  about  them, 
I  think  you  will  say  so  too.  Come  along  !  you  will  find  your 
camp-stool,  and  a  choice  of  all  the  umbrellas  in  the  house,  in 
the  hall." 

With  those  words,  Doctor  Chennery  opened  his  cigar-case, 
and  led  the  way  out  of  the  breakfast-parlor. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    SALE    OF    POETHGENNA   TOWER. 

"How  charming!  how  pastoral!  how  exquisitely  sooth 
ing  !"  said  Mr.  Phippen,  sentimentally  surveying  the  lawn  at 
the  back  of  the  vicarage -house,  under  the  shadow  of  the 
lightest  umbrella  he  could  pick  out  of  the  hall.  "  Three 
years  have  passed,  Chennery,  since  I  last  stood  on  this  lawn. 
There  is  the  window  of  your  old  study,  where  I  had  my  at 
tack  of  heart-burn  last  time — in  the  strawberry  season  ;  don't 


50  THE    DEAD   SECKET. 

you  remember  ?  All !  and  there  is  the  school-room  !  Shall  I 
ever  forget  dear  Miss  Sturch  coming  to  me  out  of  that  room 
—  a  ministering  angel  with  soda  and  ginger  —  so  comfort 
ing,  so  sweetly  anxious  about  stirring  it  up,  so  unaffectedly 
grieved  that  there  was  no  sal-volatile  in  the  house!  I  do 
so  enjoy  these  pleasant  recollections,  Chennery;  they  are  as 
great  a  luxury  to  me  as  your  cigar  is  to  you.  Could  you 
walk  on  the  other  side,  my  dear  fellow  ?  I  like  the  smell,  but 
the  smoke  is  a  little  too  much  for  me.  Thank  you.  And 
now  about  the  story?  What  was  the  name  of  the  old  place 
— I  am  so  interested  in  it — it  began  with  a  P,  surely?" 

"Porthgenna  Tower,"  said  the  vicar. 

"Exactly,"  rejoined  Mr.  Phippen,  shifting  the  umbrella 
tenderly  from  one  shoulder  to  the  other.  "  And  what  in  the 
world  made  Captain  Treverton  sell  Porthgenna  Tower?" 

"I  believe  the  reason  was  that  he  could  not  endure  the 
place  after  the  death  of  his  wife,"  answered  Doctor  Chennery. 
"The  estate,  you  know,  has  never  been  entailed;  so  the  Cap 
tain  had  no  difficulty  in  parting  with  it,  except,  of  course,  the 
difficulty  of  rinding  a  purchaser." 

"Why  not  his  brother?"  asked  Mr.  Phippen.  "Why  not 
our  eccentric  friend,  Andrew  Treverton?" 

"Don't  call  him  my  friend,"  said  the  vicar.  "A  mean, 
groveling,  cynical,  selfish  old  wretch !  It's  no  use  shaking 
your  head,  Phippen,  and  trying  to  look  shocked.  I  know  An 
drew  Treverton's  early  history  as  well  as  you  do.  I  know 
that  he  was  treated  with  the  basest  ingratitude  by  a  college 
friend,  who  took  all  he  had  to  give,  and  swindled  him  at  last 
in  the  grossest  manner.  I  know  all  about  that.  But  one  in 
stance  of  ingratitude  does  not  justify  a  man  in  shutting  him 
self  up  from  society,  and  railing  against  all  mankind  as  a  dis 
grace  to  the  earth  they  walk  on.  I  myself  have  heard  the 
old  brute  say  that  the  greatest  benefactor  to  our  generation 
would  be  a  second  Herod,  who  could  prevent  another  gene 
ration  from  succeeding  it.  Ought  a  man  who  can  talk  in 
that  way  to  be  the  friend  of  any  human  being  with  the 
slightest  respect  for  his  species  or  himself?" 

"  My  friend  !"  said  Mr.  Phippen,  catching  the  vicar  by  the 
arm,  and  mysteriously  lowering  his  voice — "  My  dear  and  rev 
erend  friend  !  I  admire  your  honest  indignation  against  the 
uttcrer  of  that  exceedingly  misanthropical  sentiment;  but — 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  51 

I  confide  this  to  you,  Chcnncry,  in  the  strictest  secrecy — there 
are  moments — morning  moments  generally — when  my  diges 
tion  is  in  such  a  state  that  I  have  actually  agreed  with  that 
annihilating  person,  Andrew  Treverton  !  I  have  woke  up 
with  my  tongue  like  a  cinder — I  have  crawled  to  the  glass 
and  looked  at  it — and  I  have  said  to  myself,  'Let  there  be  an 
end  of  the  human  race  rather  than  a  continuance  of  this!'" 

"Pooh!  pooh!"  cried  the  vicar,  receiving  Mr.  Phippen's 
confession  with  a  burst  of  irreverent  laughter.  "  Take  a  glass 

O  O 

of  cool  small  beer  next  time  your  tongue  is  in  that  state,  and 
you  will  pray  for  a  continuance  of  the  brewing  part  of  the 
human  race,  at  any  rate.  But  let  us  go  back  to  Porthgenna 
Tower,  or  I  shall  never  get  on  with  my  story.  When  Captain 
Treverton  had  once  made  up  his  mind  to  sell  the  place,  I  have 
no  doubt  that,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  he  would  have 
thought  of  offering  it  to  his  brother,  with  a  view,  of  course, 
to  keeping  the  estate  in  the  family.  Andrew  was  rich  enough 
to  have  bought  it ;  for,  though  he  got  nothing  at  his  father's 
death  but  the  old  gentleman's  rare  collection  of  books,  he  in 
herited  his  mother's  fortune,  as  the  second  son.  However,  as 
things  were  at  that  time  (and  are  still,  I  am  sorry  to  say),  the 
Captain  could  make  no  personal  offers  of  any  kind  to  Andrew; 
for  the  two  were  not  then,  and  are  not  now,  on  speaking,  or 
even  on  writing  terms.  It  is  a  shocking  thing  to  say,  but  the 
worst  quarrel  of  the  kind  I  ever  heard  of  is  the  quarrel  be 
tween  those  two  brothers." 

"  Pardon  me,  my  dear  friend,"  said  Mr.  Phippen,  opening 
his  camp-stool,  which  had  hitherto  dangled  by  its  silken  tassel 
from  the  hooked  handle  of  the  umbrella.  "  May  I  sit  down 
before  you  go  any  further?  I  am  getting  a  little  excited 
about  this  part  of  the  story,  and  I  dare  not  fatigue  myself. 
Pray  go  on.  I  don't  think  the  legs  of  my  camp-stool  will 
make  holes  in  the  lawn.  I  am  so  light — a  mere  skeleton,  in 
fact.  Do  go  on  !" 

"  You  must  have  heard,"  pursued  the  vicar,  "that  Captain 
Treverton,  when  he  was  advanced  in  life,  married  an  actress 
— rather  a  violent  temper,  I  believe ;  but  a  person  of  spotless 
character,  and  as  fond  of  her  husband  as  a  woman  could  be ; 
therefore,  according  to  my  view  of  it,  a  very  good  wife  for 
him  to  marry.  However,  the  Captain's  friends,  of  course, 
made  the  usual  senseless  outcry,  and  the  Captain's  brother, 


52  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

as  the  only  near  relation,  took  it  on  himself  to  attempt  break 
ing  off  the  marriage  in  the  most  offensively  indelicate  way. 
Failing  in  that,  and  hating  the  poor  woman  like  poison,  he 
left  his  brother's  house,  saying,  among  many  other  savage 
speeches,  one  infamous  thing  about  the  bride,  which — which, 
upon  my  honor,  Phippen,  I  am  ashamed  to  repeat.  What 
ever  the  words  were,  they  were  unluckily  carried  to  Mrs. 
Treverton's  ears,  and  they  were  of  the  kind  that  no  woman — 
let  alone  a  quick-tempered  woman  like  the  Captain's  wife — 
ever  forgives.  An  interview  followed  between  the  two  broth 
ers — and  it  led,  as  you  may  easily  imagine,  to  very  unhappy 
results.  They  parted  in  the  most  deplorable  manner.  The 
Captain  declared,  in  the  heat  of  his  passion,  that  Andrew 
had  never  had  one  generous  impulse  in  his  heart  since  he 
was  born,  and  that  he  would  die  without  one  kind  feeling 
toward  any  living  soul  in  the  world.  Andrew  replied  that, 
if  he  had  no  heart,  he  had  a  memory,  and  that  he  should  re 
member  those  farewell  words  as  long  as  he  lived.  So  they 
separated.  Twice  afterward  the  Captain  made  overtures  of 
reconciliation.  The  first  time  when  his  daughter  Rosamond 
was  born ;  the  second  time  when  Mrs.  Treverton  died.  On 
each  occasion  the  elder  brother  wrote  to  say  that,  if  the 
younger  would  retract  the  atrocious  words  he  had  spoken 
against  his  sister-in-law,  every  atonement  should  be  offered 
to  him  for  the  harsh  language  which  the  Captain  had  used, 
in  the  hastiness  of  anger,  when  they  last  met.  No  answer 
was  received  from  Andrew  to  either  letter;  and  the  estrange 
ment  between  the  two  brothers  has  continued  to  the  present 
time.  You  understand  now  why  Captain  Treverton  could 
not  privately  consult  Andrew's  inclinations  before  he  pub 
licly  announced  his  intention  of  parting  with  Porthgenna 
Tower." 

Although  Mr.  Phippen  declared,  in  answer  to  this  appeal, 
that  he  understood  perfectly,  and  although  he  begged  with 
the  utmost  politeness  that  the  vicar  would  go  on,  his  atten 
tion  seemed,  for  the  moment,  to  be  entirely  absorbed  in  in 
specting  the  legs  of  his  camp-stool,  and  in  ascertaining  what 
impression  they  made  on  the  vicarage  lawn.  Doctor  Chen- 
nery's  own  interest,  however,  in  the  circumstances  that  he 
was  relating,  seemed  sufficiently  strong  to  make  up  for  any 
transient  lapse  of  attention  on  the  part  of  his  guest.  After  a 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  53 

few  vigorous  puffs  at  his  cigar  (which  had  been  several  times 
in  imminent  danger  of  going  out  while  he  was  speaking),  he 
went  on  with  his  narrative  in  these  words : 

"  Well,  the  house,  the  estate,  the  mine,  and  the  fisheries  of 
Porthgenna  were  all  publicly  put  up  for  sale  a  few  months 
after  Mrs.  Treverton's  death;  but  no  offers  were  made  for 
the  property  which  it  was  possible  to  accept.  The  ruinous 
state  of  the  house,  the  bad  cultivation  of  the  land,  legal  diffi 
culties  in  connection  with  the  mine,  and  quarter-day  difficul 
ties  in  the  collection  of  the  rents,  all  contributed  to  make 
Porthgenna  what  the  auctioneers  would  call  a  bad  lot  to  dis 
pose  of.  Failing  to  sell  the  place,  Captain  Treverton  could 
not  be  prevailed  on  to  change  his  mind  and  live  there  again. 
The  death  of  his  wife  almost  broke  his  heart — for  he  was,  by 
all  accounts,  just  as  fond  of  her  as  she  had  been  of  him — and 
the  very  sight  of  the  place  that  was  associated  with  the 
greatest  affliction  of  his  life  became  hateful  to  him.  lie  re 
moved,  with  his  little  girl  and  a  relative  of  Mrs.  Treverton, 
who  was  her  governess,  to  our  neighborhood,  and  rented  a 
pretty  little  cottage  across  the  church  fields.  The  house 
nearest  to  it  was  inhabited  at  that  time  by  Leonard  Frank- 
land's  father  and  mother.  The  new  neighbors  soon  became 
intimate  ;  and  thus  it  happened  that  the  couple  whom  I  have 
been  marrying  this  morning  were  brought  up  together  as 
children,  and  fell  in  love  with  each  other  almost  before  they 
were  out  of  their  pinafores." 

"  Chennery,  my  dear  fellow,  I  don't  look  as  if  I  was  sitting 
all  on  one  side,  do  I  ?"  cried  Mr.  Phippen,  suddenly  breaking 
into  the  vicar's  narrative,  with  a  look  of  alarm.  "  I  am 
shocked  to  interrupt  you ;  but  surely  your  grass  is  amazing 
ly  soft  in  this  part  of  the  country.  One  of  my  camp-stool 
legs  is  getting  shorter  and  shorter  every  moment.  I'm  drill 
ing  a  hole  !  I'm  toppling  over!  Gracious  Heavens !  I  feel 
myself  going — I  shall  be  down,  Chennery;  upon  my  life,  I 
shall  be  down  !" 

"Stuff!"  cried  the  vicar,  pulling  up  first  Mr.  Phippen,  and 
then  Mr.  Phippen's  camp-stool,  which  had  rooted  itself  in  the 
grass,  all  on  one  side.  "  Here,  come  on  to  the  gravel  walk ; 
you  can't  drill  holes  in  that.  What's  the  matter  now?" 

"Palpitations,"  said  Mr.  Phippen,  dropping  his  umbrella, 
and  placing  his  hand  over  his  heart,  "  and  bile.  I  see  those 

C2 


54  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

black  spots  again — those  infernal,  lively  black  spots  dancing 
before  ray  eyes.  Chennery,  suppose  you  consult  some  agri 
cultural  friend  about  the  quality  of  your  grass.  Take  my 
word  for  it,  your  lawn  is  softer  than  it  ought  to  be. — Lawn !" 
repeated  Mr.  Phippen  to  himself,  contemptuously,  as  he  turn 
ed  round  to  pick  up  his  umbrella.  "  It  isn't  a  lawn — it  is  a 
bog!" 

"There,  sit  down,"  said  the  vicar,  "and  don't  pay  the  pal 
pitations  and  the  black  spots  the  compliment  of  bestowing 
the  smallest  attention  on  them.  Do  you  want  any  thing  to 
drink?  Shall  it  be  physic,  or  beer,  or  what?" 

"  No,  no !  I  am  so  unwilling  to  give  trouble,"  answered 
Mr.  Phippen.  "  I  would  rather  suffer — rather,  a  great  deal. 
I  think  if  you  would  go  on  with  your  story,  Chennery,  it 
would  compose  me.  I  have  not  the  faintest  idea  of  what  led 
to  it,  but  I  think  you  were  saying  something  interesting  on 
the  subject  of  pinafores  !" 

"Nonsense!"  said  Doctor  Chennery.  "I  was  only  telling 
you  of  the  fondness  between  the  two  children  who  have  now 
grown  up  to  be  man  and  wife.  And  I  was  going  on  to  tell 
you  that  Captain  Treverton,  shortly  after  he  settled  in  our 
neighborhood,  took  to  the  active  practice  of  his  profession 
again.  Nothing  else  seemed  to  fill  up  the  gap  that  the  loss 
of  Mrs.  Treverton  had  made  in  his  life.  Having  good  inter 
est  with  the  Admiralty,  he  can  always  get  a  ship  when  he 
applies  for  one;  and  up  to  the  present  time,  with  intervals 
on  shore,  he  has  resolutely  stuck  to  the  sea — though  he  is 
getting,  as  his  daughter  and  his  friends  think,  rather  too  old 
for  it  now.  Don't  look  puzzled,  Phippen  :  I  am  not  going  so 
wide  of  the  mark  as  you  think.  These  are  some  of  the  neces 
sary  particulars  that  must  be  stated  first.  And  now  they 
are  comfortably  disposed  of,  I  can  get  round  at  last  to  the 
main  part  of  my  story — the  sale  of  Porthgenna  Tower. — 
What  is  it  now  ?  Do  you  want  to  get  up  again  ?" 

Yes,  Mr.  Phippen  did  want  to  get  up  again,  for  the  purpose 
of  composing  the  palpitations  and  dispersing  the  black  spots, 
by  trying  the  experiment  of  a  little  gentle  exercise.  He  was 
most  unwilling  to  occasion  any  trouble,  but  would  his  worthy 
friend  Chennery  give  him  an  arm,  and  carry  the  camp-stool, 
and  walk  slowly  in  the  direction  of  the  school-room  window, 
so  as  to  keep  Miss  Sturch  within  easy  hailing  distance,  in 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  55 

case  it  became  necessary  to  try  the  last  resource  of  taking 
a  composing  draught?  The  vicar,  whose  inexhaustible 
good  nature  was  proof  against  every  trial  that  Mr.  Phip- 
pen's  dyspeptic  infirmities  could  inflict  on  it,  complied 
with  all  these  requests,  and  went  on  with  his  story,  un 
consciously  adopting  the  tone  and  manner  of  a  good-humored 
parent  who  was  doing  his  best  to  soothe  the  temper  of  a  fret 
ful  child. 

"I  told  you,"  he  said,  "that  the  elder  Mr.  Frankland  and 
Captain  Treverton  were  near  neighbors  here.  They  had  not 
been  long  acquainted  before  the  one  found  out  from  the  other 
that  Porthgenna  Tower  was  for  sale.  On  first  hearing  this, 
old  Frankland  asked  a  few  questions  about  the  place,  but 
said  not  a  word  on  the  subject  of  purchasing  it.  Soon  after 
that  the  Captain  got  a  ship  and  went  to  sea.  During  his 
absence  old  Frankland  privately  set  oiF  for  Cornwall  to  look 
at  the  estate,  and  to  find  out  all  he  could  about  its  advan 
tages  and  defects  from  the  persons  left  in  charge  of  the  house 
and  lands.  He  said  nothing  when  he  came  back,  until  Cap 
tain  Treverton  returned  from  his  first  cruise ;  and  then  the 
old  gentleman  spoke  out  one  morning,  in  his  quiet,  decided 
way. 

"'Treverton,'  said  he,  cif  you  wTill  sell  Porthgenna  Tower 
at  the  price  at  which  you  bought  it  in,  when  you  tried  to 
dispose  of  it  by  auction,  write  to  your  lawyer,  and  tell  him 
to  take  the  title-deeds  to  mine,  and  ask  for  the  purchase- 
money.' 

"  Captain  Treverton  wras  naturally  a  little  astonished  at 
the  readiness  of  this  offer;  but  people  like  myself,  who  knew 
old  Frankland's  history,  were  not  so  surprised.  His  fortune 
had  been  made  by  trade,  and  he  was  foolish  enough  to  be  al 
ways  a  little  ashamed  of  acknowledging  that  one  simple  and 
creditable  fact.  The  truth  was,  that  his  ancestors  had  been 
landed  gentry  of  importance  before  the  time  of  the  Civil 
War,  and  the  old  gentleman's  great  ambition  was  to  sink  the 
merchant  in  the  landed  grandee,  and  to  leave  his  son  to  suc 
ceed  him  in  the  character  of  a  squire  of  large  estate  and 
great  county  influence.  He  was  willing  to  devote  half  his 
fortune  to  accomplish  this  scheme ;  but  half  his  fortune 
would  not  buy  him  such  an  estate  as  he  wanted,  in  an  im 
portant  agricultural  county  like  ours.  Rents  are  high,  and 


56  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

land  is  made  the  most  of  with  us.  An  estate  as  extensive  as 
the  estate  at  Porthgenna  would  fetch  more  than  double  the 
money  which  Captain  Treverton  could  venture  to  ask  for  it, 
if  it  was  situated  in  these  parts.  Old  Frankland  was  well 
aware  of  that  fact,  and  attached  all  possible  importance  to 
it.  Besides,  there  was  something  in  the  feudal  look  of  Porth 
genna  Tower,  and  in  the  right  over  the  mine  and  fisheries, 
which  the  purchase  of  the  estate  included,  that  flattered  his 
notions  of  restoring  the  family  greatness.  Here  he  and  his 
son  after  him  could  lord  it,  as  he  thought,  on  a  large  scale, 
and  direct  at  their  sovereign  will  and  pleasure  the  industry 
of  hundreds  of  poor  people,  scattered  along  the  coast,  or  hud 
dled  together  in  the  little  villages  inland.  This  was  a  tempt 
ing  prospect,  and  it  could  be  secured  for  forty  thousand 
pounds — which  was  just  ten  thousand  pounds  less  than  he 
had  made  up  his  mind  to  give,  when  he  first  determined  to 
metamorphose  himself  from  a  plain  merchant  into  a  magnifi 
cent  landed  gentleman.  People  who  knew  these  facts  were, 
as  I  have  said,  not  much  surprised  at  Mr.  Frankland's  readi 
ness  to  purchase  Porthgenna  Tower ;  and  Captain  Treverton, 
it  is  hardly  necessary  to  say,  was  not  long  in  clinching  the 
bargain  on  his  side.  The  estate  changed  hands;  and  away 
went  old  Frankland,  with  a  tail  of  wiseacres  from  London  at 
his  heels,  to  work  the  mine  and  the  fisheries  on  new  scien 
tific  principles,  and  to  beautify  the  old  house  from  top  to 
bottom  with  bran-new  mediaeval  decorations  under  the  direc 
tion  of  a  gentleman  who  was  said  to  be  an  architect,  but 
who  looked,  to  my  mind,  the  very  image  of  a  Popish  priest 
in  disguise.  Wonderful  plans  and  projects  were  they  not? 
And  how  do  you  think  they  succeeded  ?" 

"  Do  tell  me,  my  dear  fellow !"  was  the  answer  that  fell 
from  Mr.  Phippen's  lips. — "  I  wonder  whether  Miss  Sturch 
keeps  a  bottle  of  camphor  julep  in  the  family  medicine-chest?" 
was  the  thought  that  passed  through  Mr.  Phippen's  mind. 

"  Tell  you  !"  exclaimed  the  vicar.  "  Why,  of  course,  every 
one  of  his  plans  turned  out  a  complete  failure.  His  Cornish 
tenantry  received  him  as  an  interloper.  The  antiquity  of 
his  family  made  no  impression  upon  them.  It  might  be  an 
old  family,  but  it  was  not  a  Cornish  family,  and,  therefore,  it 
was  of  no  importance  in  their  eyes.  They  would  have  gone 
to  the  world's  end  for  the  Trevertons;  but  not  a  man  would 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  57 

move  a  step  out  of  his  way  for  the  Franklands.  As  for  the 
mine,  it  seemed  to  be  inspired  with  the  same  mutinous  spirit 
that  possessed  the  tenantry.  The  wiseacres  from  London 
blasted  in  all  directions  on  the  profoundest  scientific  princi 
ples,  and  brought  about  sixpennyworth  of  ore  to  the  surface 
for  every  five  pounds  spent  in  getting  it  up.  The  fisheries 
turned  out  little  better.  A  new  plan  for  curing  pilchards, 
which  was  a  marvel  of  economy  in  theory,  proved  to  be  a 
perfect  phenomenon  of  extravagance  in  practice.  The  only 
item  of  luck  in  old  Frankland's  large  sum  of  misfortunes  was 
produced  by  his  quarreling  in  good  time  with  the  mediaeval 
architect,  who  was  like  a  Popish  priest  in  disguise.  This  for 
tunate  event  saved  the  new  owner  of  Porthgenna  all  the 
money  he  might  otherwise  have  spent  in  restoring  and  re 
decorating  the  whole  suite  of  rooms  on  the  north  side  of  the 
house,  which  had  been  left  to  go  to  rack  and  ruin  for  more 
than  fifty  years  past,  and  which  remain  in  their  old  neglected 
condition  to  this  day.  To  make  a  long  story  short,  after  use 
lessly  spending  more  thousands  of  pounds  at  Porthgenna  than 
I  should  like  to  reckon  up,  old  Frankland  gave  in  at  last,  left 
the  place  in  disgust  to  the  care  of  his  steward,  who  was 
charged  never  to  lay  out  another  farthing  on  it,  and  returned 
to  this  neighborhood.  Being  in  high  dudgeon,  and  happen 
ing  to  catch  Captain  Treverton  on  shore  when  he  got  back, 
the  first  thing  he  did  was  to  abuse  Porthgenna  and  all  the 
people  about  it  a  little  too  vehemently  in  the  Captain's  pres 
ence.  This  led  to  a  coolness  between  the  two  neighbors, 
which  might  have  ended  in  the  breaking  off  of  all  intercourse, 
but  for  the  children  on  either  side,  who  would  see  each  other 
just  as  often  as  ever,  and  who  ended,  by  dint  of  willful  per 
sistency,  in  putting  an  end  to  the  estrangement  between  the 
fathers  by  making  it  look  simply  ridiculous.  Here,  in  my 
opinion,  lies  the  most  curious  part  of  the  story.  Important 
family  interests  depended  on  those  two  young  people  falling 
in  love  with  each  other ;  and,  wonderful  to  relate,  that  (as 
you  know,  after  my  confession  at  breakfast-time)  was  exact 
ly  what  they  did.  Here  is  a  case  of  the  most  romantic  love- 
match,  which  is  also  the  marriage,  of  all  others,  that  the  par 
ents  on  both  sides  had  the  strongest  worldly  interest  in  pro 
moting.  Shakspeare  may  say  what  he  pleases,  the  course 
of  true  love  does  run  smooth  sometimes.  Never  was  the 


58  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

marriage  service  performed  to  better  purpose  than  when  I 
read  it  this  morning.  The  estate  being  entailed  on  Leonard, 
Captain  Treverton's  daughter  now  goes  back,  in  the  capacity 
of  mistress,  to  the  house  and  lands  which  her  father  sold. 
Rosamond  being  an  only  child,  the  purchase-money  of  Porth- 
genua,  which  old  Frankland  once  lamented  as  money  thrown 
away,  will  now,  when  the  Captain  dies,  be  the  marriage-por 
tion  of  young  Frankland's  wife.  I  don't  know  wrhat  you 
think  of  the  beginning  and  middle  of  my  story,  Phippen,  but 
the  end  ought  to  satisfy  you,  at  any  rate.  Did  you  ever  hear 
of  a  bride  and  bridegroom  who  started  with  fairer  prospects 
in  life  than  our  bride  and  bridegroom  of  to-day  ?" 

Before  Mr.  Phippen  could  make  any  reply,  Miss  Sturch  put 
her  head  out  of  the  school-room  window ;  and  seeing  the  two 
gentlemen  approaching,  beamed  on  them  with  her  invariable 
smile.  Then  addressing  the  vicar,  said  in  her  softest  tones : 

"  I  regret  extremely  to  trouble  you,  Sir,  but  I  find  Rob 
ert  very  intractable  this  morning  with  his  Multiplication 
Table." 

"  Where  does  he  stick  now  ?"  asked  Doctor  Chennery. 

"  At  seven  times  eight,  Sir,"  replied  Miss  Sturch. 

"  Bob  !"  shouted  the  vicar  through  the  window.  "  Seven 
times  eight?" 

"Forty-three,"  answered  the  whimpering  voice  of  the  in 
visible  Bob. 

"You  shall  have  one  more  chance  before  I  get  my  cane,"  said 
Doctor  Chennery.  "  Now,  then,  look  out !  Seven  times—" 

"My  dear,  good  friend,"  interposed  Mr.  Phippen,  "if  you 
cane  that  very  unhappy  boy  he  will  scream.  My  nerves 
have  been  tried  once  this  morning  by  the  camp-stool.  I  shall 
be  totally  shattered  if  I  hear  screams.  Give  me  time  to  get 
out  of  the  way,  and  allow  me  also  to  spare  dear  Miss  Sturch 
the  sad  spectacle  of  correction  (so  shocking  to  sensibilities 
like  hers)  by  asking  her  for  a  little  camphor  julep,  and  so 
giving  her  an  excuse  for  getting  out  of  the  way  like  me.  I 
think  I  could  have  done  without  the  camphor  julep  under 
any  other  circumstances;  but  I  ask  for  it  unhesitatingly  now, 
as  much  for  Miss  Sturch's  sake  as  for  the  sake  of  my  own 
poor  nerves. — Have  you  got  camphor  julep,  Miss  Sturch? 
Say  yes,  I  beg  and  entreat,  and  give  me  an  opportunity  of  es 
corting  you  out  of  the  way  of  the  screams." 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  59 

While  Miss  Sturch — whose  well-trained  sensibilities  were 
proof  against  the  longest  paternal  caning  and  the  loudest  filial 
acknowledgment  of  it  in  the  way  of  screams — tripped  up 
stairs  to  fetch  the  camphor  julep,  as  smiling  and  self-possessed 
as  ever,  Master  Bob,  rinding  himself  left  alone  with  his  sisters 
in  the  school-room,  sidled  up  to  the  youngest  of  the  two,  pro 
duced  from  the  pocket  of  his  trowsers  three  frowsy  acidulated 
drops  looking  very  much  the  worse  for  wear,  and,  attacking 
Miss  Amelia  on  the  weak,  or  greedy  side  of  her  character,  art 
fully  offered  the  drops  in  exchange  for  information  on  the 
subject  of  seven  times  eight.  "You  like  'em?"  whispered  Bob. 
"  Oh,  don't  I !"  answered  Amelia.  "  Seven  times  eight  ?" 
asked  Bob.  "Fifty-six,"  answered  Amelia.  "Sure?"  said 
Bob.  "  Certain,"  said  Amelia.  The  drops  changed  hands, 
and  the  catastrophe  of  the  domestic  drama  changed  with 
them.  Just  as  Miss  Sturch  appeared  with  the  camphor  julep 
at  the  garden  door,  in  the  character  of  medical  Hebe  to  Mr. 
Phippen,her  intractable  pupil  showed  himself  to  his  father 
at  the  school-room  window,  in  the  character,  arithmetically 
speaking,  of  a  reformed  son.  The  cane  reposed  for  the  day ; 
and  Mr.  Phippen  drank  his  glass  of  camphor  julep  with  a 
mind  at  ease  on  the  twTin  subjects  of  Miss  Sturch's  sensibili 
ties  and  Master  Bob's  screams. 

"Most  gratifying  in  every  way,"  said  the  Martyr  to  Dys 
pepsia,  smacking  his  lips  with  great  relish,  as  he  drained  the 
last  drops  out  of  the  glass.  "My  nerves  are  spared,  Miss 
Sturch's  feelings  are  spared,  and  the  dear  boy's  back  is  spared. 
You  have  no  idea  how  relieved  I  feel,  Chennery.  Where 
abouts  were  we  in  that  delightful  story  of  yours  when  this 
little  domestic  interruption  occurred  ?" 

"  At  the  end  of  it,  to  be  sure,"  said  the  vicar.  "  The  bride 
and  bridegroom  are  some  miles  on  their  wray  by  this  time  to 
spend  the  honey-moon  at  St.  Swithiu's-on-Sea.  Captain  Trev- 
erton  is  only  left  behind  for  a  day.  He  received  his  sailing 
orders  on  Monday,  and  he  will  be  off  to  Portsmouth  to-mor 
row  morning  to  take  command  of  his  ship.  Though  he  won't 
admit  it  in  plain  words,  I  happen  to  know  that  Rosamond 
has  persuaded  him  to  make  this  his  last  cruise.  She  has  a 
plan  for  getting  him  back  to  Porthgenna,  to  live  there  with 
her  husband,  which  I  hope  and  believe  will  succeed.  The 
west  rooms  at  the  old  house,  in  one  of  which  Mrs.Treverton 


60  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

died,  are  not  to  be  used  at  all  by  the  young  married  couple. 
They  have  engaged  a  builder — a  sensible,  practical  man,  this 
time — to  survey  the  neglected  north  rooms,  with  a  view  to 
their  redecoration  and  thorough  repair  in  every  way.  This 
part  of  the  house  can  not  possibly  be  associated  with  any 
melancholy  recollections  in  Captain  Treverton's  mind,  for 
neither  he  nor  any  one  else  ever  entered  it  during  the  period 
of  his  residence  at  Porthgenna.  Considering  the  change  in 
the  look  of  the  place  which  this  project  of  repairing  the  north 
rooms  is  sure  to  produce,  and  taking  into  account  also  the 
softening  effect  of  time  on  all  painful  recollections,  I  should 
say  there  was  a  fair  prospect  of  Captain  Treverton's  return 
ing  to  pass  the  end  of  his  days  among  his  old  tenantry.  It 
will  be  a  great  chance  for  Leonard  Frankland  if  he  does,  for 
he  would  be  sure  to  dispose  the  people  at  Porthgenna  kindly 
toward  their  new  master.  Introduced  among  his  Cornish 
tenants  under  Captain  Treverton's  wing,  Leonard  is  sure  to 
get  on  well  with  them,  provided  he  abstains  from  showing 
too  much  of  the  family  pride  which  he  has  inherited  from  his 
father.  He  is  a  little  given  to  overrate  the  advantages  of 
birth  and  the  importance  of  rank — but  that  is  really  the  only 
noticeable  defect  in  his  character.  In  all  other  respects  I 
can  honestly  say  of  him  that  he  deserves  what  he  has  got — 
the  best  wife  in  the  world.  What  a  life  of  happiness,  Phip- 
pen,  seems  to  be  awaiting  these  lucky  young  people !  It  is 
a  bold  thing  to  say  of  any  mortal  creatures,  but,  look  as  far 
as  I  may,  not  a  cloud  can  I  see  any  where  on  their  future 
prospects." 

"You  excellent  creature!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Phippen,  affec 
tionately  squeezing  the  vicar's  hand.  "  How  I  enjoy  hearing 
you  !  how  I  luxuriate  in  your  bright  view  of  life  !" 

"And  is  it  not  the  true  view — especially  in  the  case  of 
young  Frankland  and  his  wife  ?"  inquired  the  vicar. 

"  If  you  ask  me,"  said  Mr.  Phippen,  with  a  mournful  smile, 
and  a  philosophic  calmness  of  manner,  u  I  can  only  answer 
that  the  direction  of  a  man's  speculative  views  depends — not 
to  mince  the  matter — on  the  state  of  his  secretions.  Your 
biliary  secretions,  dear  friend,  are  all  right,  and  you  take 
bright  views.  My  biliary  secretions  are  all  wrong,  and  I 
take  dark  views.  You  look  at  the  future  prospects  of  this 
young  married  couple,  and  say  there  is  no  cloud  over  them. 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  Gl 

I  don't  dispute  the  assertion,  not  having  the  pleasure  of 
knowing  either  bride  or  bridegroom.  But  I  look  up  at  the 
sky  over  our  heads — I  remember  that  there  was  not  a  cloud 
on  it  when  we  first  entered  the  garden — I  now  see,  just  over 
those  two  trees  growing  so  close  together,  a  cloud  that  has 
appeared  unexpectedly  from  nobody  knows  where — and  I 
draw  my  own  conclusions.  Such,"  said  Mr.  Phippen,  ascend 
ing  the  garden  steps  on  his  way  into  the  house,  "is  my  phi 
losophy.  It  may  be  tinged  with  bile,  but  it  is  philosophy  for 
all  that." 

"All  the  philosophy  in  the  world,"  said  the  vicar,  following 
his  guest  up  the  steps,  "  will  not  shake  my  conviction  that 
Leonard  Frankland  and  his  wife  have  a  happy  future  before 
them." 

Mr.  Phippen  laughed,  and,  waiting  on  the  steps  till  his  host 
joined  him,  took  Doctor  Chennery's  arm  in  the  friendliest 
manner. 

"  You  have  told  a  charming  story,  Chennery,"  he  said, ' 
''and  you  have  ended  it  with  a  charming  sentiment.  But, 
my  dear  friend,  though  your  healthy  mind  (influenced  by  an 
enviably  easy  digestion)  despises  my  bilious  philosophy,  don't 
quite  forget  the  cloud  over  the  two  trees.  Look  up  at  it) 
now — it  is  getting  darker  and  bigger  already." 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    BRIDE    AND    BRIDEGROOM. 

UNDER  the  roof  of  a  widowed  mother,  Miss  Mowlem  lived 
humbly  at  St.  Swithin's-on-Sea.  In  the  spring  of  the  year 
eighteen  hundred  and  forty-four,  the  heart  of  Miss  Mowlem's 
widowed  mother  was  gladdened  by  a  small  legacy.  Turning 
over  in  her  mind  the  various  uses  to  which  the  money  might 
be  put,  the  discreet  old  lady  finally  decided  on  investing  it  in 
furniture,  on  fitting  up  the  first  floor  and  the  second  floor  of 
her  house  in  the  best  taste,  and  on  hanging  a  card  in  the 
parlor  window  to  inform  the  public  that  she  had  furnished 
apartments  to  let.  By  the  summer  the  apartments  were 
ready,  and  the  card  was  put  up.  It  had  hardly  been  exhib 
ited  a  week  before  a  dignified  personage  in  black  applied  to 
look  at  the  rooms,  expressed  himself  as  satisfied  with  their 


62  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

appearance,  and  engaged  them  for  a  month  certain,  for  a 
newly  married  lady  and  gentleman,  who  might  be  expected 
to  take  possession  in  a  few  days.  The  dignilied  personage  in 
black  was  Captain  Treverton's  servant,  and  the  lady  and 
gentleman,  who  arrived  in  due  time  to  take  possession,  were 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frankland. 

The  natural  interest  which  Mrs.  Mowlem  felt  in  her  youth 
ful  first  lodgers  wras  necessarily  vivid  in  its  nature ;  but  it 
was  apathy  itself  compared  to  the  sentimental  interest  which 
her  daughter  took  in  observing  the  manners  and  customs  of 
the  lady  and  gentleman  in  their  capacity  of  bride  and  bride 
groom.  From  the  moment  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frankland 
entered  the  house,  Miss  Mowlem  began  to  study  them  with 
all  the  ardor  of  an  industrious  scholar  who  attacks  a  new 
branch  of  knowledge.  At  every  spare  moment  of  the  day, 
this  industrious  young  lady  occupied  herself  in  stealing  up 
stairs  to  collect  observations,  and  in  running  down  stairs  to 
communicate  them  to  her  mother.  By  the  time  the  married 
couple  had  been  in  the  house  a  week,  Miss  Mowlem  had  mado 
such  good  use  of  her  eyes,  ears,  and  opportunities  that  she 
could  have  written  a  seven  days'  diary  of  the  lives  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Frankland  with  the  truth  and  minuteness  of  Mr.  Samuel 
Pepys  himself. 

But,  learn  as  much  as  we  may,  the  longer  we  live  the  more 
information  there  is  to  acquire.  Seven  days'  patient  accumu 
lation  of  facts  in  connection  with  the  honey-moon  had  not 
placed  Miss  Mowlem  beyond  the  reach  of  further  discoveries. 
On  the  morning  of  the  eighth  day,  after  bringing  down  the 
breakfast  tray,  this  observant  spinster  stole  up  stairs  again, 
according  to  custom,  to  drink  at  the  spring  of  knowledge 
through  the  key- hole  channel  of  the  drawing-room  door. 
After  an  absence  of  five  minutes  she  descended  to  the  kitchen, 
breathless  with  excitement,  to  announce  a  fresh  discovery  in 
connection  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frankland  to  her  venerable 
mother. 

"Whatever  do  you  think  she's  doing  now?"  cried  Miss 
Mowlem,  writh  widely  opened  eyes  and  highly  elevated  hands. 

"  Nothing  that's  useful,"  answered  Mrs.  Mowlem,  with  sar 
castic  readiness. 

"She's  actually  sitting  on  his  knee!  Mother, did  you  ever 
sit  on  father's  knee  when  you  were  married  ?" 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  G3 

"  Certainly  not,  my  dear.  When  me  and  your  poor  father 
married,  we  were  neither  of  us  flighty  young  people,  and  we 
knew  better." 

"She's  got  her  head  on  his  shoulder,"  proceeded  Miss 
Mowlem,  more  and  more  agitatedly,  "  and  her  arms  round 
his  neck — both  her  arms,  mother,  as  tight  as  can  be." 

"I  won't  believe  it,"  exclaimed  Mrs. Mowlem,  indignantly. 
"A  lady  like  her,  with  riches,  and  accomplishments,  and  all 
that,  demean  herself  like  a  housemaid  with  a  sweetheart. 
Don't  tell  me,  I  won't  believe  it !" 

It  was  true  though,  for  all  that.  There  were  plenty  of 
chairs  in  Mrs.  Mowlem's  drawing-room ;  there  were  three 
beautifully  bound  books  on  Mrs.  Mowlem's  Pembroke  table 
(the  Antiquities  of  St.  Swithin's,  Smallridge's  Sermons,  and 
Klopstock's  Messiah  in  English  prose)  —  Mrs.  Frankland 
might  have  sat  on  purple  morocco  leather,  stuffed  with  the 
best  horse-hair,  might  have  informed  and  soothed  her  mind 
with  archaeological  diversions,  with  orthodox  native  theology, 
and  with  devotional  poetry  of  foreign  origin — and  yet,  so 
frivolous  is  the  nature  of  woman,  she  was  perverse  enough  to 
prefer  doing  nothing,  and  perching  herself  uncomfortably  on 
her  husband's  knee  ! 

She  sat  for  some  time  in  the  undignified  position  which 
Miss  Mowlem  had  described  with  such  graphic  correctness 
to  her  mother — then  drew  back  a  little,  raised  her  head,  and 
looked  earnestly  into  the  quiet,  meditative  face  of  the  blind 
man. 

"Lenny,  you  are  very  silent  this  morning,"  she  said. 
"What  are  you  thinking  about?  If  you  will  tell  me  all  your 
thoughts,  I  will  tell  you  all  mine." 

"Would  you  really  care  to  hear  all  my  thoughts?"  asked 
Leonard. 

"Yes;  all.  I  shall  be  jealous  of  any  thoughts  that  you 
keep  to  yourself.  Tell  me  what  you  were  thinking  of  just 
now !  Me  ?" 

"  Not  exactly  of  you." 

"More  shame  for  you.  Are  you  tired  of  me  in  eight  days? 
I  have  not  thought  of  any  body  but  you  ever  since  we  have 
been  here.  Ah!  you  laugh.  Oh,  Lenny,  I  do  love  you  so; 
how  can  I  think  of  any  body  but  you?  No!  I  sha'n't  kiss 
you.  I  want  to  know  what  you  were  thinking  about  first." 


04  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

"  Of  a  dream,  Rosamond,  that  I  had  last  night.  Ever  since 
the  first  days  of  my  blindness — Why,  I  thought  you  were  not 
going  to  kiss  me  again  till  I  had  told  you  what  I  was  think 
ing  about !" 

"I  can't  help  kissing  you,  Lenny,  when  you  talk  of  the  loss 
of  your  sight.  Tell  me,  my  poor  love,  do  I  help  to  make  up 
for  that  loss  ?  Are  you  happier  than  you  used  to  be  ?  and 
have  I  some  share  in  making  that  happiness,  though  it  is  ever 
so  little  ?" 

She  turned  her  head  away  as  she  spoke,  but  Leonard  was 
too  quick  for  her.  His  inquiring  fingers  touched  her  cheek. 
"  Rosamond,  you  are  crying,"  he  said. 

"  I  crying !"  she  answered,  with  a  sudden  assumption  of 
gayety.  "  No,"  she  continued,  after  a  moment's  pause.  "  I 
will  never  deceive  you,  love,  even  in  the  veriest  trifle.  My 
eyes  serve  for  both  of  us  now,  don't  they?  you  depend  on  me 
for  all  that  your  touch  fails  to  tell  you,  and  I  must  never  be 
unworthy  of  my  trust — must  I  ?  I  did  cry,  Lenny — but  only 
a  very  little.  I  don't  know  how  it  was,  but  I  never,  in  all 
my  life,  seemed  to  pity  you  and  feel  for  you  as  I  did  just  at 
that  moment.  Never  mind,  I've  done  now.  Go  on — do  go 
on  with  what  you  were  going  to  say." 

"  I  was  going  to  say,  Rosamond,  that  I  have  observed  one 
curious  thing  about  myself  since  I  lost  my  sight.  I  dream  a 
great  deal,  but  I  never  dream  of  myself  as  a  blind  man.  I 
often  visit  in  my  dreams  places  that  I  saw  and  people  whom. 
I  knew  when  I  had  my  sight,  and  though  I  feel  as  much  my 
self,  at  those  visionary  times,  as  I  am  now  when  I  am  wide 
awake,  I  never  by  any  chance  feel  blind.  I  wander  about  all 
sorts  of  old  walks  in  my  sleep,  and  never  grope  my  way.  I 
talk  to  all  sorts  of  old  friends  in  my  sleep,  and  see  the  ex 
pression  in  their  faces  which,  waking,  I  shall  never  see  again. 
I  have  lost  my  sight  more  than  a  year  now,  and  yet  it  was  like 
the  shock  of  a  new  discovery  to  me  to  wake  up  last  night 
from  my  dream,  and  remember  suddenly  that  I  was  blind." 

"  What  dream  was  it,  Lenny  ?" 

"  Only  a  dream  of  the  place  where  I  first  met  you  when 
we  were  both  children.  I  saw  the  glen,  as  it  was  years  ago, 
with  the  great  twisted  roots  of  the  trees,  and  the  blackberry 
bushes  twining  about  them  in  a  still  shadowed  light  that 
came  through  thick  leaves  from  the  rainy  sky.  I  saw  the 


THE    DEAD   SECKET.  65 

mud  on  the  walk  in  the  middle  of  the  glen,  with  the  marks 
of  the  cows'  hoofs  in  some  places,  and  the  sharp  circles  in 
others  where  some  countrywomen  had  been  lately  trudging 
by  on  pattens.  I  saw  the  muddy  water  running  down  on 
either  side  of  the  path  after  the  shower;  and  I  saw  you, 
Rosamond,  a  naughty  girl,  all  covered  with  clay  and  wet — 
just  as  you  were  in  the  reality — soiling  your  bright  blue 
pelisse  and  your  pretty  little  chubby  hands  by  making  a  dam 
to  stop  the  running  wrater,  and  laughing  at  the  indignation 
of  your  nurse-maid  when  she  tried  to  pull  you  away  and  take 
you  home.  I  saw  all  that  exactly  as  it  really  was  in  the  by 
gone  time ;  but,  strangely  enough,  I  did  not  see  myself  as 
the  boy  I  then  was.  You  were  a  little  girl,  and  the  glen  was 
in  its  old  neglected  state,  and  yet,  though  I  was  all  in  the 
past  so  far,I  was  in  the  present  as  regarded  myself.  Through 
out  the  whole  dream  I  was  uneasily  conscious  of  being  a 
grown  man — of  being,  in  short,  exactly  what  I  am  now,  ex 
cepting  always  that  I  was  not  blind." 

"  What  a  memory  you  must  have,  love,  to  be  able  to  recall 
all  those  little  circumstances  after  the  years  that  have  pass 
ed  since  that  wet  day  in  the  glen  !  How  well  you  recollect 
what  I  was  as  a  child  !  Do  you  remember  in  the  same  vivid 
way  what  I  looked  like  a  year  ago  when  you  saw  me — Oh, 
Lenny,  it  almost  breaks  my  heart  to  think  of  it ! — when  you 
saw  me  for  the  last  time  ?" 

"  Do  I  remember,  Rosamond  !  My  last  look  at  your  face 
has  painted  your  portrait  in  my  memory  in  colors  that  can 
never  change.  I  have  many  pictures  in  my  mind,  but  your 
picture  is  the  clearest  and  brightest  of  all." 

"  And  it  is  the  picture  of  me  at  my  best — painted  in  my 
youth,  dear,  when  my  face  was  always  confessing  how  I  loved 
you,  though  my  lips  said  nothing.  There  is  some  consola 
tion  in  that  thought.  When  years  have  passed  over  us  both, 
Lenny,  and  when  time  begins  to  set  his  mark  on  me,  you 
will  not  say  to  yourself,  'My  Rosamond  is  beginning  to 
fade ;  she  grows  less  and  less  like  what  she  was  when  I  mar 
ried  her.'  I  shall  never  grow  old,  love,  for  you  !  The  bright 
young  picture  in  your  mind  will  still  be  my  picture  when 
my  cheeks  are  wrinkled  and  my  hair  is  gray." 

"  Still  your  picture  —  always  the  same,  grow  as  old  as  I 
may." 


66  THE    DEAD    SECKET. 

"  But  are  you  sure  it  is  clear  in  every  part  ?  Are  there  no 
doubtful  lines,  no  unfinished  corners  any  where?  I  have 
not  altered  yet  since  you  saw  me — I  am  just  what  I  was  a 
year  ago.  Suppose  I  ask  you  what  I  am  like  now,  could  you 
tell  me  without  making  a  mistake?" 

"  Try  me." 

"  May  I  ?  You  shall  be  put  through  a  complete  catechism  ! 
I  don't  tire  you  sitting  on  your  knee,  do  I  ?  Well,  in  the 
first  place,  how  tall  am  I  when  we  both  stand  up  side  by 
side  ?" 

"You  just  reach  to  my  ear." 

"  Quite  right,  to  begin  with.  Now  for  the  next  question. 
What  does  my  hair  look  like  in  your  portrait  ?" 

"It  is  dark  brown  —  there  is  a  great  deal  of  it  —  and  it 
grows  rather  too  low  on  your  forehead  for  the  taste  of  some 
people — " 

"  Never  mind  about  '  some  people ;'  does  it  grow  too  low 
for  your  taste  ?" 

"  Certainly  not.  I  like  it  to  grow  low ;  I  like  all  those 
little  natural  waves  that  it  makes  against  your  forehead ;  I 
like  it  taken  back,  as  you  wear  it,  in  plain  bands,  which  leave 
your  ears  and  your  cheeks  visible  ;  and  above  all  things,  I 
like  that  big  glossy  knot  that  it  makes  where  it  is  all  gath 
ered  up  together  at  the  back  of  your  head." 

"  Oh,  Lenny,  how  well  you  remember  me,  so  far  !  Now  go 
a  little  lower." 

"  A  little  lower  is  down  to  your  eyebrows.  They  are  very 
nicely  shaped  eyebrowrs  in  my  picture — " 

"Yes,  but  they  have  a  fault.  Come!  tell  me  what  the 
fault  is." 

"  They  are  not  quite  so  strongly  marked  as  they  might  be." 

"  Right  again  !     And  my  eyes  ?" 

"  Brown  eyes,  large  eyes,  wakeful  eyes,  that  are  always 
looking  about  them.  Eyes  that  can  be  very  soft  at  one 
time,  and  very  bright  at  another.  Eyes  tender  and  clear, 
just  at  the  present  moment,  but  capable,  on  very  slight 
provocation,  of  opening  rather  too  widely,  and  looking  rather 
too  brilliantly  resolute." 

"Mind  you  don't  make  them  look  so  now  !  What  is  there 
below  the  eyes  ?" 

"A  nose  that  is  not  quite  big  enough  to  be  in  proper  pro- 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  67 

portion  with  them.  A  nose  that  has  a  slight  tendency  to 
be—" 

"  Don't  say  the  horrid  English  word  !  Spare  my  feelings 
by  putting  it  in  French.  Say  retrousse,  and  skip  over  my 
nose  as  fast  as  possible." 

"  I  must  stop  at  the  mouth,  then,  and  own  that  it  is  as  near 
perfection  as  possible.  The  lips  are  lovely  in  shape,  fresh  in 
color,  and  irresistible  in  expression.  They  smile  in  my  por 
trait,  and  I  am  sure  they  are  smiling  at  me  now." 

"  How  could  they  do  otherwise  when  they  are  getting  so 
much  praise  ?  My  vanity  whispers  to  me  that  I  had  better 
stop  the  catechism  here.  If  I  talk  about  my  complexion,  I 
shall  only  hear  that  it  is  of  the  dusky  sort ;  and  that  there 
is  never  red  enough  in  it  except  when  I  am  walking,  or  con 
fused,  or  angry.  If  I  ask  a  question  about  my  figure,  I  shall 
receive  the  dreadful  answer,  '  You  are  dangerously  inclined 
to  be  fat.'  If  I  say,  How  do  I  dress  ?  I  shall  be  told,  Not  so 
berly  enough  ;  you  are  as  fond  as  a  child  of  gay  colors — No! 
I  will  venture  no  more  questions.  But,  vanity  apart,  Lenny, 
I  am  so  glad,  so  proud,  so  happy  to  find  that  you  can  keep  the 
image  of  me  clearly  in  your  mind.  I  shall  do  my  best  now  to 
look  and  dress  like  your  last  remembrance  of  me.  My  love  of 
loves  !  I  will  do  you  credit — I  will  try  if  I  can't  make  you 
envied  for  your  wife.  You  deserve  a  hundred  thousand  kisses 
for  saying  your  catechism  so  well — and  there  they  are  !" 

While  Mrs.  Frankland  was  conferring  the  reward  of  merit 
on  her  husband,  the  sound  of  a  faint,  small,  courteously  sig 
nificant  cough  made  itself  timidly  audible  in  a  corner  of  the 
room.  Turning  round  instantly,  with  the  quickness  that 
characterized  all  her  actions,  Mrs.  Frankland,  to  her  horror 
and  indignation,  confronted  Miss  Mowlem  standing  just  in 
side  the  door,  with  a  letter  in  her  hand  and  a  blush  of  senti 
mental  agitation  on  her  simpering  face. 

"  You  wretch  !  how  dare  you  come  in  without  knocking  at 
the  door  ?"  cried  Rosamond,  starting  to  her  feet  with  a  stamp, 
and  passing  in  an  instant  from  the  height  of  fondness  to  the 
height  of  indignation. 

Miss  Mowlem  shook  guiltily  before  the  bright,  angry  eyes 
that  looked  through  and  through  her,  turned  very  pale,  held 
out  the  letter  apologetically,  and  said  in  her  meekest  tones 
that  she  was  very  sorry. 


68  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

"  Sorry  !"  exclaimed  Rosamond,  getting  even  more  irri 
tated  by  the  apology  than  she  had  been  by  the  intrusion, 
and  showing  it  by  another  stamp  of  the  foot;  "who  cares 
whether  you  are  sorry  ?  I  don't  want  your  sorrow — I  won't 
have  it.  I  never  was  so  insulted  in  my  life  —  never,  you 
mean,  prying,  inquisitive  creature  !" 

"Rosamond!  Rosamond!  pray  don't  forget  yourself!"  in 
terposed  the  quiet  voice  of  Mr.  Frankland. 

"  Lenny,  dear,  I  can't  help  it !  That  creature  would  drive 
a  saint  mad.  She  has  been  prying  after  us  ever  since  we 
have  been  here — you  have,  you  ill-bred,  indelicate  woman ! 
— I  suspected  it  before — I  am  certain  of  it  now !  Must  we 
lock  our  doors  to  keep  you  out? — we  won't  lock  our  doors! 
Fetch  the  bill !  We  give  you  warning.  Mr.  Frankland 
gives  you  warning — don't  yon,  Lenny  ?  I'll  pack  up  all  your 
things,  dear :  she  sha'n't  touch  one  of  them.  Go  down  stairs 
and  make  out  your  bill,  and  give  your  mother  warning.  Mr. 
Frankland  says  he  won't  have  his  rooms  burst  into,  and  his 
doors  listened  at  by  inquisitive  women — and  I  say  so  too. 
Put  that  letter  down  on  the  table — unless  you  want  to  open 
it  and  read  it — put  it  down,  you  audacious  woman,  and  fetch 
the  bill,  and  tell  your  mother  we  are  going  to  leave  the  house 
directly!" 

At  this  dreadful  threat,  Miss  Mowlem,  who  was  soft  and 
timid,  as  well  as  curious,  by  nature,  wrung  her  hands  in  de 
spair,  and  overflowed  meekly  in  a  shower  of  tears. 

"  Oh  !  good  gracious  Heavens  above  !"  cried  Miss  Mowlem, 
addressing  herself  distractedly  to  the  ceiling,  "  what  will 
mother  say!  whatever  will  become  of  me  now  !  Oh,  ma'am  ! 
I  thought  I  knocked — I  did,  indeed  !  Oh,  ma'am  !  I  humbly 
beg  pardon,  and  I'll  never  intrude  again.  Oh,  ma'am !  mother's 
a  widow,  and  this  is  the  first  time  we  have  let  the  lodgings, 
and  the  furniture's  swallowed  up  all  our  money,  and  oh, 
ma'am  !  ma'am !  how  I  shall  catch  it  if  you  go  !"  Here 
words  failed  Miss  Mowlem,  and  hysterical  sobs  pathetically 
supplied  their  place. 

"  Rosamond  !"  said  Mr.  Frankland.  There  was  an  accent 
of  sorrow  in  his  voice  this  time,  as  well  as  an  accent  of  re 
monstrance.  Rosamond's  quick  ear  caught  the  alteration  in 
his  tone.  As  she  looked  round  at  him  her  color  changed,  her 
head  drooped  a  little,  and  her  whole  expression  altered  on 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  69 

the  instant.  She  stole  gently  to  her  husband's  side  with 
softened,  saddened  eyes,  and  put  her  lips  caressingly  close  to 
his  ear. 

"  Lenny,"  she  whispered,  "  have  I  made  you  angry  with 
me?" 

"  I  can't  be  angry  with  you,  Rosamond,"  was  the  quiet  an 
swer.  "I  only  wish,  love,  that  you  could  have  controlled 
yourself  a  little  sooner." 

"  I  am  so  sorry — so  very,  very  sorry  !"  The  fresh,  soft 
lips  came  closer  still  to  his  ear  as  they  whispered  these  peni 
tent  words ;  and  the  cunning  little  hand  crept  up  trembling 
ly  round  his  neck  and  began  to  play  with  his  hair.  "  So  sor 
ry,  and  so  ashamed  of  myself!  But  it  was  enough  to  make 
almost  any  body  angry,  just  at  first — wasn't  it,  dear?  And 
you  will  forgive  me — won't  you,  Lenny? — if  I  promise  never 
to  behave  so  badly  again?  Never  mind  that  wretched 
whimpering  fool  at  the  door,"  said  Rosamond,  undergoing  a 
slight  relapse  as  she  looked  round  at  Miss  Mowlem,  standing 
immovably  repentant  against  the  wall,  with  her  face  buried 
in  a  dingy-white  pocket-handkerchief.  "  I'll  make  it  up  with 
her;  I'll  stop  her  crying;  I'll  take  her  out  of  the  room;  I'll 
do  any  thing  in  the  world  that's  kind  to  her,  if  you  will  only 
forgive  me." 

"A  polite  word  or  two  is  all  that  is  wanted — nothing  more 
than  a  polite  word  or  two,"  said  Mr.Frankland,  rather  coldly 
and  constrainedly. 

"  Don't  cry  any  more,  for  goodness  sake  !"  said  Rosamond, 
walking  straight  up  to  Miss  Mowlem,  and  pulling  the  dingy- 
white  pocket-handkerchief  away  from  her  face  without  the 
least  ceremony.  "  There  !  leave  off,  will  you  ?  I  am  very 
sorry  I  was  in  a  passion — though  you  had  no  business  to 
come  in  without  knocking — I  never  meant  to  distress  you, 
and  I'll  never  say  a  hard  word  to  you  again,  if  you  will  only 
knock  at  the  door  for  the  future,  and  leave  off  crying  now. 
Do  leave  off  crying,  you  tiresome  creature  !  We  are  not  go 
ing  away.  We  don't  want  your  mother,  or  the  bill,  or  any 
thing.  Here  !  here's  a  present  for  you,  if  you'll  leave  off  cry 
ing.  Here's  my  neck-ribbon — I  saw  you  trying  it  on  yester 
day  afternoon,  when  I  was  lying  down  on  the  bedroom  sofa, 
and  you  thought  I  was  asleep.  Never  mind ;  I'm  not  angry 
about  that.  Take  the  ribbon — take  it  as  a  peace-offering,  if 

D 


70  THE    DEAD    SECEET. 

you  won't  as  a  present.  You  shall  take  it! — No,  I  don't 
mean  that — I  mean,  please  take  it !  There,  I've  pinned  it  on. 
And  now,  shake  hands  and  be  friends,  and  go  up  stairs  and 
see  how  it  looks  in  the  glass."  With  these  words,  Mrs. 
Frankland  opened  the  door,  administered,  under  the  pretense 
of  a  pat  on  the  shoulder,  a  good-humored  shove  to  the  amazed 
and  embarrassed  Miss  Mowlem,  closed  the  door  again,  and 
resumed  her  place  in  a  moment  on  her  husband's  knee. 

"  I've  made  it  up  with  her,  dear.  I've  sent  her  away  with 
my  bright  green  ribbon,  and  it  makes  her  look  as  yellow  as 
a  guinea,  and  as  ugly  as — "  Rosamond  stopped,  and  looked 
anxiously  into  Mr.  Frankland's  face.  "  Lenny !"  she  said, 
sadly,  putting  her  cheek  against  his,  "  are  you  angry  with  me 
still  ?" 

"My  love,  I  was  never  angry  with  you.     I  never  can  be." 

"I  will  always  keep  my  temper  down  for  the  future, 
Lenny !" 

"  I  am  sure  you  will,  Rosamond.  But  never  mind  that.  I 
am  not  thinking  of  your  temper  now." 

"Of  what,  then?" 

"  Of  the  apology  you  made  to  Miss  Mowlem." 

"  Did  I  not  say  enough  ?  I'll  call  her  back  if  you  like — I'll 
make  another  penitent  speech — I'll  do  any  thing  but  kiss  her. 
I  really  can't  do  that — I  can't  kiss  any  body  now  but  you." 

"  My  dear,  dear  love,  how  very  much  like  a  child  you  are 
still  in  some  of  your  ways !  You  said  more  than  enough  to 
Miss  Mowlem  —  far  more.  And  if  you  will  pardon  me  for 
making  the  remark,  I  think  in  your  generosity  and  good-nat 
ure  you  a  little  forgot  yourself  with  the  young  woman.  I 
don't  so  much  allude  to  your  giving  her  the  ribbon — though, 
perhaps,  that  might  have  been  done  a  little  less  familiarly— 
but,  from  what  I  heard  you  say,  I  infer  that  you  actually  went 
the  length  of  shaking  hands  with  her." 

"  Was  that  wrong  ?  I  thought  it  was  the  kindest  way  of 
making  it  up." 

"  My  dear,  it  is  an  excellent  way  of  making  it  up  between 
equals.  But  consider  the  difference  between  your  station  in 
society  and  Miss  Mowlem's." 

"  I  will  try  and  consider  it,  if  you  wish  me,  love.  But  I 
think  I  take  after  my  father,  who  never  troubles  his  head 
(dear  old  man !)  about  differences  of  station.  I  can't  help 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  71 

liking  people  who  are  kind  to  me,  without  thinking  whether 
they  are  above  ray  rank  or  below  it ;  and  when  I  got  cool,  I 
must  confess  I  felt  just  as  vexed  with  myself  for  frightening 
and  distressing  that  unlucky  Miss  Mowlem  as  if  her  station 
had  been  equal  to  mine.  I  will  try  to  think  as  you  do,  Lenny ; 
but  I  am  very  much  afraid  that  I  have  got,  without  knowing 
exactly  how,  to  be  what  the  newspapers  call  a  Radical." 

"  My  dear  Rosamond !  don't  talk  of  yourself  in  that  way, 
even  in  joke.  You  ought  to  be  the  last  person  in  the  world 
to  confuse  those  distinctions  in  rank  on  which  the  whole  well- 
being  of  society  depends." 

"  Does  it  really  ?  And  yet,  dear,  we  don't  seem  to  have 
been  created  with  such  very  wide  distinctions  between  us. 
We  have  all  got  the  same  number  of  arms  and  legs ;  we  are 
all  hungry  and  thirsty,  and  hot  in  the  summer  and  cold  in 
the  winter ;  we  all  laugh  when  we  are  pleased,  and  cry  when 
we  are  distressed ;  and,  surely,  we  have  all  got  very  much 
the  same  feelings,  whether  we  are  high  or  whether  we  are 
low.  I  could  not  have  loved  you  better,  Lenny,  than  I  do 
now  if  I  had  been  a  duchess,  or  less  than  I  do  now  if  I  had 
been  a  servant-girl." 

"  My  love,  you  are  not  a  servant-girl.  And,  as  to  what  you 
say  about  being  a  duchess,  let  me  remind  you  that  you  are 
not  so  much  below  a  duchess  as  you  seem  to  think.  Many  a 
lady  of  high  title  can  not  look  back  on  such  a  line  of  ances 
tors  as  yours.  Your  father's  family,  Rosamond,  is  one  of  the 
oldest  in  England  :  even  my  father's  family  hardly  dates  back 
so  far ;  and  we  were  landed  gentry  when  many  a  name  in  the 
peerage  was  not  heard  of.  It  is  really  almost  laughably  ab 
surd  to  hear  you  talking  of  yourself  as  a  Radical." 

"  I  won't  talk  of  myself  so  again,  Lenny — only  don't  look 
so  serious.  I  will  be  a  Tory,  dear,  if  you  will  give  me  a  kiss, 
and  let  me  sit  on  your  knee  a  little  longer." 

Mr.  Frankland's  gravity  was  not  proof  against  his  wife's 
change  of  political  principles,  and  the  conditions  which  she 
annexed  to  it.  His  face  cleared  up,  and  he  laughed  almost 
as  gayly  as  Rosamond  herself. 

"  By  the  bye,"  he  said,  after  an  interval  of  silence  had  given 
him  time  to  collect  his  thoughts,  "  did  I  not  hear  you  tell 
Miss  Mowlem  to  put  a  letter  down  on  the  table  ?  Is  it  a  let 
ter  for  you  or  for  me  ?" 


72  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

"  Ah  !  I  forgot  all  about  the  letter,"  said  Rosamond,  run 
ning  to  the  table.  "  It  is  for  you,  Lenny — and,  goodness  me  ! 
here's  the  Porthgenna  postmark  on  it." 

"It  must  be  from  the  builder  whom  I  sent  down  to  the 
old  house  about  the  repairs.  Lend  me  your  eyes,  love,  and 
let  us  hear  what  he  says." 

Rosamond  opened  the  letter,  drew  a  stool  to  her  husband's 
feet,  and,  sitting  down  with  her  arms  on  his  knees,  read  as 
follows : 

"  To  LEONARD  FRANKLAND,  ESQ.  : 

"SiR, — Agreeably  to  the  instructions  with  which  you  fa 
vored  me,  I  have  proceeded  to  survey  Porthgenna  Tower, 
with  a  view  to  ascertaining  what  repairs  the  house  in  gen 
eral,  and  the  north  side  of  it  in  particular,  may  stand  in 
need  of. 

"As  regards  the  outside,  a  little  cleaning  and  new  pointing 
is  all  that  the  building  wrants.  The  walls  and  foundations 
seem  made  to  last  forever.  Such  strong,  solid  work  I  never 
set  eyes  on  before. 

"Inside  the  house,!  can  not  report  so  favorably.  The  rooms 
in  the  west  front,  having  been  inhabited  during  the  period 
of  Captain  Treverton's  occupation,  and  having  been  well 
looked  after  since,  are  in  tolerably  sound  condition.  I  should 
say  two  hundred  pounds  would  cover  the  expense  of  all  re 
pairs  in  my  line  which  these  rooms  need.  This  sum  would 
not  include  the  restoration  of  the  western  staircase,  which 
has  given  a  little  in  some  places,  and  the  banisters  of  which 
are  decidedly  insecure  from  the  first  to  the  second  landing. 
From  twenty-five  to  thirty  pounds  would  suffice  to  set  this 
all  right. 

"  In  the  rooms  on  the  north  front,  the  state  of  dilapidation, 
from  top  to  bottom,  is  as  bad  as  can  be.  From  all  that  I 
could  ascertain,  nobody  ever  went  near  these  rooms  in  Cap 
tain  Treverton's  time,  or  has  ever  entered  them  since.  The 
people  who  now  keep  the  house  have  a  superstitious  dread 
of  opening  any  of  the  north  doors,  in  consequence  of  the  time 
that  has  elapsed  since  any  living  being  has  passed  through 
them.  Nobody  would  volunteer  to  accompany  me  in  my 
survey,  and  nobody  could  tell  me  which  keys  fitted  which 
room  doors  in  any  part  of  the  north  side.  I  could  find  no 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  73 

plan  containing  the  names  or  numbers  of  the  rooms ;  nor,  to 
my  surprise,  were  there  any  labels  attached  separately  to  the 
keys.  They  were  given  to  me,  all  hanging  together  on  a 
large  ring,  with  an  ivory  label  on  it,  which  was  only  marked 
— Keys  of  the  North  Rooms.  I  take  the  liberty  of  mentioning 
these  particulars  in  order  to  account  for  my  having,  as  you 
might  think,  delayed  my  stay  at  Porthgenna  Tower  longer 
than  is  needful.  I  lost  nearly  a  whole  day  in  taking  the  keys 
off  the  ring,  and  fitting  them  at  hazard  to  the  right  doors. 
And  I  occupied  some  hours  of  another  day  in  marking  each 
door  with  a  number  on  the  outside,  and  putting  a  correspond 
ing  label  to  each  key,  before  I  replaced  it  on  the  ring,  in  or 
der  to  prevent  the  possibility  of  future  errors  and  delays. 

"As  I  hope  to  furnish  you,  in  a  few  days,  with  a  detailed 
estimate  of  the  repairs  needed  in  the  north  part  of  the  house, 
from  basement  to  roof,  I  need  only  say  here  that  they  will 
occupy  some  time,  and  will  be  of  the  most  extensive  nature. 
The  beams  of  the  staircase  and  the  flooring  of  the  first  story 
have  got  the  dry  rot.  The  damp  in  some  rooms,  and  the  rats 
in  others,  have  almost  destroyed  the  wainscotings.  Four  of 
the  mantel-pieces  have  given  out  from  the  walls,  and  all  the 
ceilings  are  either  stained,  cracked,  or  peeled  away  in  large 
patches.  The  flooring  is,  in  general,  in  a  better  condition 
than  I  had  anticipated;  but  the  shutters  and  window-sashes 
are  so  warped  as  to  be  useless.  It  is  only  fair  to  acknowl 
edge  that  the  expense  of  setting  all  these  things  to  rights — 
that  is  to  say,  of  making  the  rooms  safe  and  habitable,  and 
of  putting  them  in  proper  condition  for  the  upholsterer — will 
be  considerable.  I  would  respectfully  suggest,  in  the  event 
of  your  feeling  any  surprise  or  dissatisfaction  at  the  amount 
of  my  estimate,  that  you  should  name  a  friend  in  whom  you 
place  confidence,  to  go  over  the  north  rooms  with  me,  keep 
ing  my  estimate  in  his  hand.  I  will  undertake  to  prove,  if 
needful,  the  necessity  of  each  separate  repair,  and  the  justice 
of  each  separate  charge  for  the  same,  to  the  satisfaction  of 
any  competent  and  impartial  person  whom  you  may  please 
to  select. 

"Trusting  to  send  you  the  estimate  in  a  few  days, 
"I  remain,  Sir, 

"  Your  humble  servant, 

"THOMAS  HORLOCK." 


74  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

"A  very  honest,  straightforward  letter,"  said  Mr.  Frank- 
land. 

"I  wish  he  had  sent  the  estimate  with  it,"  said  Rosamond. 
"  Why  could  not  the  provoking  man  tell  us  at  once  in  round 
numbers  what  the  repairs  will  really  cost  ?" 

"  I  suspect,  my  dear,  he  was  afraid  of  shocking  us,  if  he 
mentioned  the  amount  in  round  numbers." 

"  That  horrid  money  !  It  is  always  getting  in  one's  way, 
and  upsetting  one's  plans.  If  we  haven't  got  enough,  let  us 
go  and  borrow  of  somebody  who  has.  Do  you  mean  to  dis 
patch  a  friend  to  Porthgenna  to  go  over  the  house  with  Mr. 
Horlock  ?  If  you  do,  I  know  who  I  wish  you  would  send." 

"  Who  ?" 

"  Me,  if  you  please — under  your  escort,  of  course.  Don't 
laugh,  Lenny ;  I  would  be  very  sharp  with  Mr.  Horlock ;  I 
would  object  to  every  one  of  his  charges,  and  beat  him  down 
without  mercy.  I  once  saw  a  surveyor  go  over  a  house,  and 
I  know  exactly  what  to  do.  You  stamp  on  the  floor,  and 
knock  at  the  walls,  and  scrape  at  the  brick-work,  and  look  up 
all  the  chimneys,  and  out  of  all  the  windows — sometimes  you 
make  notes  in  a  little  book,  sometimes  you  measure  with  a 
foot-rule,  sometimes  you  sit  down  all  of  a  sudden,  and  think 
profoundly — and  the  end  of  it  is  that  you  say  the  house  will 
do  very  well  indeed,  if  the  tenant  will  pull  out  his  purse,  and 
put  it  in  proper  repair." 

"  Well  done,  Rosamond  !  You  have  one  more  accomplish 
ment  than  I  knew  of;  and  I  suppose  I  have  no  choice  now 
but  to  give  you  an  opportunity  of  displaying  it.  If  you  don't 
object,  my  dear,  to  being  associated  with  a  professional  as 
sistant  in  the  important  business  of  checking  Mr.  Horlock's 
estimate,  I  don't  object  to  paying  a  short  visit  to  Porthgenna 
whenever  you  please — especially  now  I  know  that  the  west 
rooms  are  still  habitable." 

"  Oh,  how  kind  of  you  !  how  pleased  I  shall  be  !  how  I  shall 
enjoy  seeing  the  old  place  again  before  it  is  altered !  I  was 
only  five  years  old,  Lenny,  when  we  left  Porthgenna,  and  I 
am  so  anxious  to  see  what  I  can  remember  of  it,  after  such  a 
long,  long  absence  as  mine.  Do  you  know,  I  never  saw  any 
thing  of  that  ruinous  north  side  of  the  house  ? — and  I  do  so 
dote  on  old  rooms !  We  will  go  all  through  them,  Lenny. 
You  shall  have  hold  of  my  hand,  and  look  with  my  eyes,  and 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  75 

make  as  many  discoveries  as  I  do.  I  prophesy  that  we  shall 
see  ghosts,  and  find  treasures,  and  hear  mysterious  noises — 
and,  oh  heavens  !  what  clouds  of  dust  we  shall  have  to  go 
through.  Pouf !  the  very  anticipation  of  them  chokes  me  al 
ready  !" 

"  Now  we  are  on  the  subject  of  Porthgenna,  Rosamond, 
let  us  be  serious  for  one  moment.  It  is  clear  to  me  that  these 
repairs  of  the  north  rooms  will  cost  a  large  sum  of  money. 
Now,  my  love,  I  consider  no  sum  of  money  misspent,  how 
ever  large  it  may  be,  if  it  procures  you  pleasure.  I  am  with 
you  heart  and  soul — " 

He  paused.  His  wife's  caressing  arms  were  twining  round 
his  neck  again,  and  her  cheek  was  laid  gently  against  his. 
"  Go  on,  Lenny,"  she  said,  with  such  an  accent  of  tenderness 
in  the  utterance  of  those  three  simple  words  that  his  speech 
failed  him  for  the  moment,  and  all  his  sensations  seemed  ab 
sorbed  in  the  one  luxury  of  listening.  "Rosamond,"  he 
whispered,  "  there  is  no  music  in  the  world  that  touches  me 
as  your  voice  touches  me  now !  I  feel  it  all  through  me,  as 
I  used  sometimes  to  feel  the  sky  at  night,  in  the  time  when 
I  could  see."  As  he  spoke,  the  caressing  arms  tightened 
round  his  neck,  and  the  fervent  lips  softly  took  the  place 
which  the  cheek  had  occupied.  "  Go  on,  Lenny,"  they  re 
peated,  happily  as  well  as  tenderly  now,  "  you  said  you  were 
with  me,  heart  and  soul.  With  me  in  what  ?" 

"  In  your  project,  love,  for  inducing  your  father  to  retire 
from  his  profession  after  this  last  cruise,  and  in  your  hope  of 
prevailing  on  him  to  pass  the  evening  of  his  days  happily 
with  us  at  Porthgenna.  If  the  money  spent  in  restoring  the 
north  rooms,  so  that  we  may  all  live  in  them  for  the  future, 
does  indeed  so  alter  the  look  of  the  place  to  his  eyes  as  to 
dissipate  his  old  sorrowful  associations  with  it,  and  to  make 
his  living  there  again  a  pleasure  instead  of  a  pain  to  him,  I 
shall  regard  it  as  money  well  laid  out.  But,  Rosamond,  are 
you  sure  of  the  success  of  your  plan  before  we  undertake  it? 
Have  you  dropped  any  hint  of  the  Porthgenna  project  to  your 
father?" 

"  I  told  him,  Lenny,  that  I  should  never  be  quite  comfort 
able  unless  he  left  the  sea  and  came  to  live  with  us — and  he 
said  that  he  would.  I  did  not  mention  a  word  about  Porth 
genna — nor  did  he — but  he  knows  that  we  shall  live  there 


76  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

when  we  are  settled,  and  he  made  no  conditions  when  he 
promised  that  our  home  should  be  his  home." 

"  Is  the  loss  of  your  mother  the  only  sad  association  he  has 
with  the  place  ?" 

"  Not  quite.  There  is  another  association,  which  has  never 
been  mentioned,  but  which  I  may  tell  you,  because  there  are 
no  secrets  between  us.  My  mother  had  a  favorite  maid  who 
lived  with  her  from  the  time  of  her  marriage,  and  who  was, 
accidentally,  the  only  person  present  in  her  room  when  she 
died.  I  remember  hearing  of  this  woman  as  being  odd  in  her 
look  and  manner,  and  no  great  favorite  with  any  body  but 
her  mistress.  Well,  on  the  morning  of  my  mother's  death, 
she  disappeared  from  the  house  in  the  strangest  way,  leaving 
behind  her  a  most  singular  and  mysterious  letter  to  my  fa 
ther,  asserting  that  in  my  mother's  dying  moments  a  Secret 
had  been  confided  to  her  which  she  was  charged  to  divulge 
to  her  master  when  her  mistress  was  no  more;  and  adding 
that  she  was  afraid  to  mention  this  secret,  and  that,  to  avoid 
being  questioned  about  it,  she  had  resolved  on  leaving  the 
house  forever.  She  had  been  gone  some  hours  when  the  let 
ter  was  opened — and  she  has  never  been  seen  or  heard  of 
since  that  time.  This  circumstance  seemed  to  make  almost 
as  strong  an  impression  on  my  father's  mind  as  the  shock  of 
my  mother's  death.  Our  neighbors  and  servants  all  thought 
(as  I  think)  that  the  woman  was  mad ;  but  he  never  agreed 
with  them,  and  I  know  that  he  has  neither  destroyed  nor  for 
gotten  the  letter  from  that  time  to  this." 

"A  strange  event,  Rosamond — a  very  strange  event.  I 
don't  wonder  that  it  has  made  a  lasting  impression  on  him." 

"  Depend  upon  it,  Lenny,  the  servants  and  the  neighbors 
were  right — the  woman  was  mad.  Any  way,  however,  it 
was  certainly  a  singular  event  in  our  family.  All  old  houses 
have  their  romance — and  that  is  the  romance  of  our  house. 
But  years  and  years  have  passed  since  then ;  and,  what  with 
time,  and  what  with  the  changes  we  are  going  to  make,  I 
have  no  fear  that  my  dear,  good  father  will  spoil  our  plans. 
Give  him  a  new  north  garden  at  Porthgenna,  where  he  can 
walk  the  decks,  as  I  call  it — give  him  new  north  rooms  to 
live  in — and  I  will  answer  for  the  result.  But  all  this  is  in 
the  future  ;  let  us  get  back  to  the  present  time.  When  shall 
we  pay  our  flying  visit  to  Porthgenna,  Lenny,  and  plunge 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  77 

into  the  important  business  of  checking  Mr.  Horlock's  esti 
mate  for  the  repairs  ?" 

"  We  have  three  weeks  more  to  stay  here,  Rosamond." 

"Yes;  and  then  we  must  go  back  to  Long  Beckley.  I 
promised  that  best  and  biggest  of  men,  the  vicar,  that  we 
would  pay  our  first  visit  to  him.  He  is  sure  not  to  let  us  off 
under  three  weeks  or  a  month." 

"  In  that  case,  then,  we  had  better  say  two  months  hence 
for  the  visit  to  Porthgenna.  Is  your  writing-case  in  the 
room,  Rosamond  ?" 

"Yes;  close  by  us,  on  the  table." 

"  Write  to  Mr.  Horlock  then,  love — and  appoint  a  meeting 
in  two  months'  time  at  the  old  house.  Tell  him  also,  as  we 
must  not  trust  ourselves  on  unsafe  stairs — especially  consid 
ering  how  dependent  I  am  on  banisters — to  have  the  west 
staircase  repaired  immediately.  And,  while  you  have  the  pen 
in  your  hand,  perhaps  it  may  save  trouble  if  you  write  a  sec 
ond  note  to  the  housekeeper  at  Porthgenna,  to  tell  her  when 
she  may  expect  us." 

Rosamond  sat  down  gayly  at  the  table,  and  dipped  her  pen 
in  the  ink  with  a  little  flourish  of  triumph. 

"In  two  months,"  she  exclaimed  joyfully,  "I  shall  see  the 
dear  old  place  again !  In  two  months,  Lenny,  our  profane 
feet  will  be  raising  the  dust  in  the  solitudes  of  the  North 
Rooms." 

D2 


78  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 


BOOK   III. 
CHAPTER  I. 

TIMON     OF     LONDON. 

TIMON  of  Athens  retreated  from  an  ungrateful  world  to  a 
cavern  by  the  sea-shore,  vented  his  misanthropy  in  magnifi 
cent  poetry,  and  enjoyed  the  honor  of  being  called  "My  Lord." 
Timon  of  London  took  refuge  from  his  species  in  a  detached 
house  at  Bayswater — expressed  his  sentiments  in  shabby 
prose — and  was  only  addressed  as  "Mr.  Treverton."  The 
one  point  of  resemblance  which  it  is  possible  to  set  against 
these  points  of  contrast  between  the  two  Timons  consisted 
in  this :  that  their  misanthropy  was,  at  least,  genuine.  Both 
were  incorrigible  haters  of  mankind. 

There  is  probably  no  better  proof  of  the  accuracy  of  that 
definition  of  man  which  describes  him  as  an  imitative  animal, 
than  is  to  be  found  in  the  fact  that  the  verdict  of  humanity 
is  always  against  any  individual  member  of  the  species  who 
presumes  to  differ  from  the  rest.  A  man  is  one  of  a  flock, 
and  his  wool  must  be  of  the  general  color.  He  must  drink 
when  the  rest  drink,  and  graze  where  the  rest  graze.  Let  him 
walk  at  noonday  with  perfect  composure  of  countenance  and 
decency  of  gait,  with  not  the  slightest  appearance  of  vacancy 
in  his  eyes  or  wildness  in  his  manner,  from  one  end  of  Oxford 
Street  to  the  other  without  his  hat,  and  let  every  one  of  the 
thousands  of  hat-wearing  people  whom  he  passes  be  asked 
separately  what  they  think  of  him,  how  many  will  abstain 
from  deciding  instantly  that  he  is  mad,  on  no  other  evidence 
than  the  evidence  of  his  bare  head  ?  Nay,  more ;  let  him 
politely  stop  each  one  of  those  passengers,  and  let  him  explain 
in  the  plainest  form  of  words,  and  in  the  most  intelligible 
manner,  that  his  head  feels  more  easy  and  comfortable  with 
out  a  hat  than  with  one,  how  many  of  his  fellow  mortals  who 
decided  that  he  was  mad  on  first  meeting  him,  will  change 
their  opinion  when  they  part  from  him  after  hearing  his  ex 
planation  ?  In  the  vast  majority  of  cases,  the  very  explana- 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  79 

tion  itself  would  be  accepted  as  an  excellent  additional  proof 
that  the  intellect  of  the  hatless  man  was  indisputably  de 
ranged. 

Starting  at  the  beginning  of  the  march  of  life  out  of  step 
with  the  rest  of  the  mortal  regiment,  Andrew  Treverton  paid 
the  penalty  of  his  irregularity  from  his  earliest  days.  He  was 
a  phenomenon  in  the  nursery,  a  butt  at  school,  and  a  victim 
at  college.  The  ignorant  nurse-maid  reported  him  as  a  queer 
child  ;  the  learned  school-master  genteelly  varied  the  phrase, 
and  described  him  as  an  eccentric  boy;  the  college  tutor, 
harping  on  the  same  string,  facetiously  likened  his  head  to  a 
roof,  and  said  there  was  a  slate  loose  in  it.  When  a  slate  is 
loose,  if  nobody  fixes  it  in  time,  it  ends  by  falling  off.  In  the 
roof  of  a  house  we  view  that  consequence  as  a  necessary  re 
sult  of  neglect;  in  the  roof  of  a  man's  head  we  are  generally 
very  much  shocked  and  surprised  by  it. 

Overlooked  in  some  directions  and  misdirected  in  others, 
Andrew's  uncouth  capacities  for  good  tried  helplessly  to 
shape  themselves.  The  better  side  of  his  eccentricity  took 
the  form  of  friendship.  He  became  violently  and  unintelli 
gibly  fond  of  one  among  his  school-fellows — a  boy  who  treat 
ed  him  with  no  especial  consideration  in  the  play-ground,  and 
who  gave  him  no  particular  help  in  the  class.  Nobody  could 
discover  the  smallest  reason  for  it,  but  it  was  nevertheless  a 
notorious  fact  that  Andrew's  pocket-money  was  always  at 
this  boy's  service,  that  Andrew  ran  about  after  him  like  a 
dog,  and  that  Andrew  over  and  over  again  took  the  blame 
and  punishment  on  his  own  shoulders  which  ought  to  have 
fallen  on  the  shoulders  of  his  friend.  When,  a  few  years  aft 
erward,  that  friend  went  to  college,  the  lad  petitioned  to  be 
sent  to  college  too,  and  attached  himself  there  more  closely 
than  ever  to  the  strangely  chosen  comrade  of  his  school-boy 
days.  Such  devotion  as  this  must  have  touched  any  man 
possessed  of  ordinary  generosity  of  disposition.  It  made  no 
impression  whatever  on  the  inherently  base  nature  of  An 
drew's  friend.  After  three  years  of  intercourse  at  college — 
intercourse  which  was  all  selfishness  on  one  side  and  all  self- 
sacrifice  on  the  other — the  end  came,  and  the  light  was  let  in 
cruelly  on  Andrew's  eyes.  When  his  purse  grew  light  in 
his  friend's  hand,  and  when  his  acceptances  were  most  nu 
merous  on  his  friend's  bills,  the  brother  of  his  honest  affec- 


80  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

tion,  the  hero  of  his  simple  admiration,  abandoned  him  to 
embarrassment,  to  ridicule,  and  to  solitude,  without  the  faint 
est  affectation  of  penitence — without  so  much  even  as  a  wrord 
of  farewell. 

He  returned  to  his  father's  house,  a  soured  man  at  the  out 
set  of  life — returned  to  be  upbraided  for  the  debts  that  he  had 
contracted  to  serve  the  man  who  had  heartlessly  outraged 
and  shamelessly  cheated  him.  He  left  home  in  disgrace  to 
travel  on  a  small  allowance.  The  travels  were  protracted, 
and  they  ended,  as  such  travels  often  do,  in  settled  expatria 
tion.  The  life  he  led,  the  company  he  kept,  during  his  long 
residence  abroad,  did  him  permanent  and  fatal  harm.  When 
he  at  last  returned  to  England,  he  presented  himself  in  the 
most  hopeless  of  all  characters  —  the  character  of  a  man 
who  believes  in  nothing.  At  this  period  of  his  life,  his  one 
chance  for  the  future  lay  in  the  good  results  which  his  broth 
er's  influence  over  him  might  have  produced.  The  two  had 
hardly  resumed  their  intercourse  of  early  days,  when  the 
quarrel  occasioned  by  Captain  Treverton's  marriage  broke  it 
off  forever.  From  that  time,  for  all  social  interests  and  pur 
poses,  Andrew  was  a  lost  man.  From  that  time  he  met  the 
last  remonstrances  that  were  made  to  him  by  the  last  friends 
who  took  any  interest  in  his  fortunes  always  with  the  same 
bitter  and  hopeless  form  of  reply:  "My  dearest  friend  for 
sook  and  cheated  me,"  he  would  say.  "My  only  brother  has 
quarreled  with  me  for  the  sake  of  a  play-actress.  What  am 
I  to  expect  of  the  rest  of  mankind  after  that?  I  have  suffer 
ed  twice  for  my  belief  in  others — I  will  never  suffer  a  third 
time.  The  wise  man  is  the  man  who  does  not  disturb  his 
heart  at  its  natural  occupation  of  pumping  blood  through  his 
body.  I  have  gathered  my  experience  abroad  and  at  home, 
and  have  learned  enough  to  see  through  the  delusions  of  life 
which  look  like  realities  to  other  men's  eyes.  My  business 
in  this  world  is  to  eat,  drink,  sleep,  and  die.  •  Every  thing 
else  is  superfluity — and  I  have  done  with  it." 

The  few  people  who  ever  cared  to  inquire  about  him  again, 
after  being  repulsed  by  such  an  avowal  as  this,  heard  of  him 
three  or  four  years  after  his  brother's  marriage  in  the  neigh 
borhood  of  Bays  water.  Local  report  described  him  as  having 
bought  the  first  cottage  he  could  find  which  was  cut  off  from 
other  houses  by  a  wall  all  round  it.  It  was  further  rumored 


THE   DEAD   SECRET.  81 

that  he  was  living  like  a  miser ;  that  he  had  got  an  old  man 
servant,  named  Shrowl,  who  was  even  a  greater  enemy  to  man 
kind  than  himself;  that  he  allowed  no  living  soul,  not  even  an 
occasional  char-woman,  to  enter  the  house ;  that  he  was  letting 
his  beard  grow,  and  that  he  had  ordered  his  servant  Shrowl 
to  follow  his  example.  In  the  year  eighteen  hundred  and 
forty-four,  the  fact  of  a  man's  not  shaving  was  regarded  by 
the  enlightened  majority  of  the  English  nation  as  a  proof  of 
unsoundness  of  intellect.  At  the  present  time  Mr.  Trever- 
ton's  beard  would  only  have  interfered  with  his  reputation 
for  respectability.  Seventeen  years  ago  it  was  accepted  as. 
so  much  additional  evidence  in  support  of  the  old  theory  that 
his  intellects  were  deranged.  He  was  at  that  very  time,  as 
his  stock-broker  could  have  testified,  one  of  the  sharpest  men 
of  business  in  London;  he  could  argue  on  the  wron£  side  of 
any  question  with  an  acuteness  of  sophistry  and  sarcasm  that 
Dr.  Johnson  himself  might  have  envied;  he  kept  his  house 
hold  accounts  right  to  a  farthing — but  what  did  these  ad 
vantages  avail  him,  in  the  estimation  of  his  neighbors,  when 
he  presumed  to  live  on  another  plan  than  theirs,  and  when 
he  wore  a  hairy  certificate  of  lunacy  on  the  lower  part  of  his 
face?  We  have  advanced  a  little  in  the  matter  of  partial 
toleration  of  beards  since  that  time ;  but  we  have  still  a  good 
deal  of  ground  to  get  over.  In  the  present  year  of  progress, 
eighteen  hundred  and  sixty-one,  would  the  most  trustworthy 
banker's  clerk  in  the  whole  metropolis  have  the  slightest 
chance  of  keeping  his  situation  if  he  left  off  shaving  his  chin  ? 
Common  report,  which  calumniated  Mr.  Treverton  as  mad, 
had  another  error  to  answer  for  in  describing  him  as  a  miser. 
He  saved  more  than  two  thirds  of  the  income  derived  from 
his  comfortable  fortune,  not  because  he  liked  hoarding  up 
money,  but  because  he  had  no  enjoyment  of  the  comforts 
and  luxuries  which  money  is  spent  in  procuring.  To  do  him 
justice,  his  contempt  for  his  own  wealth  was  quite  as  hearty 
as  his  contempt  for  the  wealth  of  his  neighbors.  Thus  char 
acteristically  wrong  in  endeavoring  to  delineate  his  charac 
ter,  report  was,  nevertheless,  for  once  in  a  way,  inconsistent 
ly  right  in  describing  his  manner  of  life.  It  was  true  that 
he  had  bought  the  first  cottage  he  could  find  that  was  se 
cluded  within  its  own  walls — true  that  nobody  was  allowed, 
on  any  pretense  whatever,  to  enter  his  doors — and  true  that 


82  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

he  had  met  with  a  servant,  who  was  even  bitterer  against  all 
mankind  than  himself,  in  the  person  of  Mr.  Shrowl. 

The  life  these  two  led  approached  as  nearly  to  the  exist 
ence  of  the  primitive  man  (or  savage)  as  the  surrounding  con 
ditions  of  civilization  would  allow.  Admitting  the  necessity 
of  eating  and  drinking,  the  first  object  of  Mr.  Treverton's  am 
bition  was  to  sustain  life  with  the  least  possible  dependence 
on  the  race  of  men  who  professed  to  supply  their  neighbors' 
bodily  wants,  and  who,  as  he  conceived,  cheated  them  infa 
mously  on  the  strength  of  their  profession. 

Having  a  garden  at  the  back  of  the  house,  Timon  of  London 
dispensed  with  the  green-grocer  altogether  by  cultivating  his 
own  vegetables.  There  was  no  room  for  growing  wheat,  or 
he  would  have  turned  farmer  also  on  his  own  account ;  but 
he  could  outwit  the  miller  and  the  baker,  at  any  rate,  by 
buying  a  sack  of  corn,  grinding  it  in  his  own  hand-mill,  and 
giving  the  flour  to  Shrowl  to  make  into  bread.  On  the  same 
principle,  the  meat  for  the  house  was  bought  wholesale  of 
the  City  salesmen — the  master  and  servant  eating  as  much 
of  it  in  the  fresh  state  as  they  could,  salting  the  rest,  and  set 
ting  butchers  at  defiance.  As  for  drink,  neither  brewer  nor 
publican  ever  had  the  chance  of  extorting  a  farthing  from 
Mr.  Treverton's  pocket.  He  and  Shrowl  were  satisfied  with 
beer — and  they  brewed  for  themselves.  With  bread,  vege 
tables,  meat,  and  malt  liquor,  these  two  hermits  of  modern 
days  achieved  the  great  double  purpose  of  keeping  life  in 
and  keeping  the  tradesmen  out- 
Eating  like  primitive  men,  they  lived  in  all  other  respects 
like  primitive  men  also.  They  had  pots,  pans,  and  pipkins, 
two  deal  tables,  two  chairs,  two  old  sofas,  two  short  pipes, 
and  two  long  cloaks.  They  had  no  stated  meal-times,  no  car 
pets  and  bedsteads,  no  cabinets,  book-cases,  or  ornamental 
knickknacks  of  any  kind,  no  laundress,  and  no  char-woman. 
When  either  of  the  two  wanted  to  eat  and  drink,  he  cut  off 
his  crust  of  bread,  cooked  his  bit  of  meat,  drew  his  drop  of 
beer,  without  the  slightest  reference  to  the  other.  When 
either  of  the  two  thought  he  wanted  a  clean  shirt,  which  was 
very  seldom,  he  went  and  washed  one  for  himself.  When 
either  of  the  two  discovered  that  any  part  of  the  house  was 
getting  very  dirty  indeed,  he  took  a  bucket  of  water  and  a 
birch -broom,  and  washed  the  place  out  like  a  dog -kennel. 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  83 

And,  lastly,  when  either  of  the  two  wanted  to  go  to  sleep,  he 
wrapped  himself  up  in  his  cloak,  lay  down  on  one  of  the  so 
fas,  and  took  what  repose  he  required,  early  in  the  evening 
or  late  in  the  morning,  just  as  he  pleased. 

When  there  was  no  baking,  brewing,  gardening,  or  clean 
ing  to  be  done,  the  two  sat  down  opposite  each  other,  and 
smoked  for  hours,  generally  without  uttering  a  word.  When 
ever  they  did  speak,  they  quarreled.  Their  ordinary  dia 
logue  was  a  species  of  conversational  prize-fight,  beginning 
with  a  sarcastic  affectation  of  good-will  on  either  side,  and 
ending  in  hearty  exchanges  of  violent  abuse — just  as  the 
boxers  go  through  the  feeble  formality  of  shaking  hands  be 
fore  they  enter  on  the  serious  practical  business  of  beating 
each  other's  faces  out  of  all  likeness  to  the  image  of  man. 
Not  having  so  many  disadvantages  of  early  refinement  and 
education  to  contend  against  as  his  master,  Shrowl  generally 
won  the  victory  in  these  engagements  of  the  tongue.  In 
deed,  though  nominally  the  servant,  he  was  really  the  ruling 
spirit  in  the  house — acquiring  unbounded  influence  over  his 
master  by  dint  of  outmarching  Mr.  Treverton  in  every  direc 
tion  on  his  own  ground.  Shrowl's  was  the  harshest  voice; 
Shrowl's  were  the  bitterest  sayings ;  and  Shrowl's  was  the 
longest  beard.  The  surest  of  all  retributions  is  the  retribu 
tion  that  lies  in  wait  for  a  man  who  boasts.  Mr.  Treverton 
was  rashly  given  to  boasting  of  his  independence,  and  when 
retribution  overtook  him  it  assumed  a  personal  form,  and 
bore  the  name  of  Shrowl. 

On  a  certain  morning,  about  three  weeks  after  Mrs.  Frank- 
land  had  written  to  the  housekeeper  at  Porthgenna  Tower 
to  mention  the  period  at  which  her  husband  and  herself 
might  be  expected  there,  Mr.  Treverton  descended,  with  his 
sourest  face  and  his  surliest  manner,  from  the  upper  regions 
of  the  cottage  to  one  of  the  rooms  on  the  ground-floor,  which 
civilized  tenants  would  probably  have  called  the  parlor. 
Like  his  elder  brother,  he  was  a  tall,  well-built  man  ;  but  his 
bony,  haggard,  sallow  face  bore  not  the  slightest  resemblance 
to  the  handsome,  open,  sunburnt  face  of  the  Captain.  No 
one  seeing  them  together  could  possibly  have  guessed  that 
they  were  brothers — so  completely  did  they  differ  in  expres 
sion  as  well  as  in  feature.  The  heart-aches  that  he  had  suf- 


84  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

fered  in  youth  ;  the  reckless,  wandering,  dissipated  life  that 
he  had  led  in  manhood ;  the  petulance,  the  disappointment, 
and  the  physical  exhaustion  of  his  latter  days,  had  so  wasted 
and  worn  him  away  that  he  looked  his  brother's  elder  by 
almost  twenty  years.  With  unbrushed  hair  and  unwashed 
face,  with  a  tangled  gray  beard,  and  an  old,  patched,  dirty 
flannel  dressing-gown  that  hung  about  him  like  a  sack,  this 
descendant  of  a  wealthy  and  ancient  family  looked  as  if  his 
birthplace  had  been  the  work-house,  and  his  vocation  in  life 
the  selling  of  cast-off  clothes. 

It  was  breakfast-time  with  Mr.  Treverton — that  is  to  say, 
it  was  the  time  at  which  he  felt  hungry  enough  to  think 
about  eating  something.  In  the  same  position  over  the 
mantel-piece  in  which  a  looking-glass  would  have  been  placed 
in  a  household  of  ordinary  refinement,  there  hung  in  the  cot 
tage  of  Timon  of  London  a  side  of  bacon.  On  the  deal  table 
by  the  fire  stood  half  a  loaf  of  heavy-looking  brown-bread  ; 
in  a  corner  of  the  room  was  a  barrel  of  beer,  with  two  bat 
tered  pewter  pots  hitched  onto  nails  in  the  wall  above  it; 
and  under  the  grate  lay  a  smoky  old  gridiron,  left  just  as  it 
had  been  thrown  down  when  last  used  and  done  with.  Mr. 
Treverton  took  a  greasy  clasp-knife  out  of  the  pocket  of  his 
dressing-gown,  cut  off  a  rasher  of  bacon,  jerked  the  gridiron 
onto  the  fire,  and  began  to  cook  his  breakfast.  He  had  just 
turned  the  rasher,  when  the  door  opened,  and  Shrowl  entered 
the  room,  with  his  pipe  in  his  mouth,  bent  on  the  same  eat 
ing  errand  as  his  master. 

In  personal  appearance,  Shrowl  was  short,  fat,  flabby,  and 
perfectly  bald,  except  at  the  back  of  his  head,  where  a  ring 
of  bristly  iron-gray  hair  projected  like  a  collar  that  had  got 
hitched  out  of  its  place.  To  make  amends  for  the  scanti 
ness  of  his  hair,  the  beard  which  he  had  cultivated  by  his 
master's  desire  grew  far  over  his  cheeks,  and  drooped  down 
on  his  chest  in  two  thick  jagged  peaks.  He  wore  a  very  old 
long-tailed  dress-coat,  which  he  had  picked  up  a  bargain  in 
Petticoat  Lane — a  faded  yellow  shirt,  with  a  large  torn  frill 
— velveteen  trowsers,  turned  up  at  the  ankles — and  Blucher 
boots  that  had  never  been  blacked  since  the  day  when  they 
last  left  the  cobbler's  stall.  His  color  was  unhealthily  florid, 
his  thick  lips  curled  upward  with  a  malicious  grin,  and  his 
eyes  were  the  nearest  approach,  in  form  and  expression,  to 


.  '  ': •.'  •;.• 


"  HE  HAD  JUST  TURNED  THE  RASHER,  WHEN  THE  DOOR  OPENED,  AND 
SHROWL  ENTERED  THE  ROOM." 


THE   DEAD    SECRET.  85 

the  eyes  of  a  bull  terrier  which  those  features  are  capable  of 
achieving  when  they  are  placed  in  the  countenance  of  a  man. 
Any  painter  wanting  to  express  strength,  insolence,  ugliness, 
coarseness,  and  cunning  in  the  face  and  figure  of  one  and  the 
same  individual,  could  have  discovered  no  better  model  for 
the  purpose,  all  the  world  over,  than  he  might  have  found  in 
the  person  of  Mr.  Shrowl. 

Neither  master  nor  servant  exchanged  a  word  or  took  the 
smallest  notice  of  each  other  on  first  meeting.  Shrowl  stood 
stolidly  contemplative,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  wait 
ing  for  his  turn  at  the  gridiron.  Mr.  Treverton  finished  his 
cooking,  took  his  bacon  to  the  table,  and,  cutting  a  crust  of 
bread,  began  to  eat  his  breakfast.  When  he  had  disposed 
of  the  first  mouthful,  he  condescended  to  look  up  at  Shrowl, 
who  was  at  that  moment  opening  his  clasp-knife  and  ap 
proaching  the  side  of  bacon  with  slouching  steps  and  sleepi 
ly  greedy  eyes. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?"  asked  Mr.  Treverton, 
pointing  with  indignant  surprise  at  ShrowPs  breast.  "  You 
ugly  brute,  you've  got  a  clean  shirt  on  !" 

"  Thankee,  Sir,  for  noticing  it,"  said  Shrowl,  with  a  sarcas 
tic  affectation  of  humility.  "This  is  a  joyful  occasion,  this 
is.  I  couldn't  do  no  less  than  put  a  clean  shirt  on,  when  it's 
my  master's  birthday.  Many  happy  returns,  Sir.  Perhaps 
you  thought  I  should  forget  that  to-day  was  your  birthday  ? 
Lord  bless  your  sweet  face,  I  wouldn't  have  forgot  it  on  any 
account.  How  old  are  you  to-day?  It's  a  long  time  ago, 
Sir,  since  you  was  a  plump  smiling  little  boy,  with  a  frill 
round  your  neck,  and  marbles  in  your  pocket,  and  trowsers 
and  waistcoat  all  in  one,  and  kisses  and  presents  from  Pa 
and  Ma  and  uncle  and  aunt,  on  your  birthday.  Don't  you 
be  afraid  of  me  wearing  out  this  shirt  by  too  much  washing. 
I  mean  to  put  it  away  in  lavender  against  your  next  birth 
day  ;  or  against  your  funeral,  which  is  just  as  likely  at  your 
time  of  life— isn't  it,  Sir?" 

"  Don't  waste  a  clean  shirt  on  my  funeral,"  retorted  Mr. 
Treverton.  "I  hav'n't  left  you  any  money  in  my  will, 
Shrowl.  You'll  be  on  your  way  to  the  work-house  when 
I'm  on  my  way  to  the  grave." 

"  Have  you  really  made  your  will  at  last,  Sir  ?"  inquired 
Shrowl,  pausing,  with  an  appearance  of  the  greatest  interest, 


86  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

in  the  act  of  cutting  off  his  slice  of  bacon.  "I  humbly  beg 
pardon,  but  I  always  thought  you  was  afraid  to  do  it." 

The  servant  had  evidently  touched  intentionally  on  one  of 
the  master's  sore  points.  Mr.  Treverton  thumped  his  crust 
of  bread  on  the  table,  and  looked  up  angrily  at  Shrowl. 

"  Afraid  of  making  my  will,  you  fool !"  said  he.  "  I  don't 
make  it,  and  I  won't  make  it,  on  principle." 

Shrowl  slowly  sawed  off  his  slice  of  bacon,  and  began  to 
whistle  a  tune. 

"  On  principle,"  repeated  Mr.  Treverton.  "  Rich  men  who 
leave  money  behind  them  are  the  farmers  who  raise  the  crop 
of  human  wickedness.  When  a  man  has  any  spark  of  gen 
erosity  in  his  nature,  if  you  want  to  put  it  out,  leave  him  a 
legacy.  When  a  man  is  bad,  if  you  want  to  make  him 
worse,  leave  him  a  legacy.  If  you  \vant  to  collect  a  number 
of  men  together  for  the  purpose  of  perpetuating  corruption 
and  oppression  on  a  large  scale,  leave  them  a  legacy  under 
the  form  of  endowing  a  public  charity.  If  you  want  to  give 
a  woman  the  best  chance  in  the  world  of  getting  a  bad  hus 
band,  leave  her  a  legacy.  Make  my  will!  I  have  a  pretty 
strong  dislike  of  my  species,  Shrowl,  but  I  don't  quite  hate 
mankind  enough  yet  to  do  such  mischief  among  them  as 
that !"  Ending  his  diatribe  in  those  words,  Mr.  Treverton 
took  down  one  of  the  battered  pewter  pots,  and  refreshed 
himself  with  a  pint  of  beer. 

Shrowl  shifted  the  gridiron  to  a  clear  place  in  the  fire,  and 
chuckled  sarcastically. 

"  Who  the  devil  would  you  have  me  leave  my  money  to  ?" 
cried  Mr.  Treverton,  overhearing  him.  "  To  my  brother,  who 
thinks  me  a  brute  now  ;  who  would  think  me  a  fool  then ; 
and  who  would  encourage  swindling,  anyhow,  by  spending 
all  my  money  among  doxies  and  strolling  players  ?  To  the 
child  of  that  player-woman,  whom  I  have  never  set  eyes  on, 
who  has  been  brought  up  to  hate  me,  and  who  would  turn 
hypocrite  directly  by  pretending,  for  decency's  sake,  to  be 
sorry  for  my  death  ?  To  you^  you  human  baboon  !  —  you, 
who  wrould  set  up  a  usury  office  directly,  and  prey  upon 
the  widow,  the  fatherless,  and  the  unfortunate  generally,  all 
over  the  world  ?  Your  good  health,  Mr.  Shrowl !  I  can 
laugh  as  well  as  you — especially  when  I  know  I'm  not  going 
to  leave  you  sixpence." 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  87 

Shrowl,  in  his  turn,  began  to  get  a  little  irritated  now. 
The  jeering  civility  which  he  had  chosen  to  assume  on  first 
entering  the  room  gave  place  to  his  habitual  surliness  of 
manner  and  his  natural  growling  intonation  of  voice. 

"  You  just  let  me  alone — will  you  ?"  he  said,  sitting  down 
sulkily  to  his  breakfast.  "  I've  done  joking  for  to-day ;  sup 
pose  you  finish  too.  What's  the  use  of  talking  nonsense 
about  your  money?  You  must  leave  it  to  somebody." 

"  Yes,  I  will,"  said  Mr.  Treverton.  "  I  will  leave  it,  as  I 
have  told  you  over  and  over  again,  to  the  first  Somebody  I 
can  find  who  honestly  despises  money,  and  who  can't  be 
made  the  worse,  therefore,  by  having  it." 

"  That  means  nobody,"  grunted  Shrowl. 

"  I  know  it  does  !"  retorted  his  master. 

Before  Shrowl  could  utter  a  word  of  rejoinder,  there  was  a 
ring  at  the  gate-bell  of  the  cottage. 

"  Go  out,"  said  Mr.  Treverton,  "  and  see  what  that  is.  If 
it's  a  woman  visitor,  show  her  what  a  scarecrow  you  are,  and 
frighten  her  away.  If  it's  a  man  visitor — " 

"  If  it's  a  man  visitor,"  interposed  Shrowl,  "  I'll  punch  his 
head  for  interrupting  me  at  my  breakfast." 

Mr.  Treverton  filled  and  lit  his  pipe  during  his  servant's 
absence.  Before  the  tobacco  was  well  alight,  Shrowl  re 
turned,  and  reported  a  man  visitor. 

"Did  you  punch  his  head?"  asked  Mr.  Treverton. 

"  No,"  said  Shrowl.  "I  picked  up  his  letter.  He  poked  it 
under  the  gate  and  went  away.  Here  it  is." 

The  letter  was  written  on  foolscap  paper,  superscribed  in 
a  round  legal  hand.  As  Mr.  Treverton  opened  it,  two  slips 
cut  from  newspapers  dropped  out.  One  fell  on  the  table  be 
fore  which  he  was  sitting;  the  other  fluttered  to  the  floor. 
This  last  slip  Shrowl  picked  up  and  looked  over  its  contents, 
without  troubling  himself  to  go  through  the  ceremony  of 
first  asking  leave. 

After  slowly  drawing  in  and  slowly  puifing  out  again  one 
mouthful  of  tobacco-smoke,  Mr.  Treverton  began  to  read  the 
letter.  As  his  eye  fell  on  the  first  lines,  his  lips  began  to 
work  round  the  mouth-piece  of  the  pipe  in  a  manner  that 
was  very  unusual  with  him.  The  letter  was  not  long  enough 
to  require  him  to  turn  over  the  first  leaf  of  it — it  ended  at  the 
bottom  of  the  opening  sheet.  He  read  it  down  to  the  signa- 


88  THE    DEAD    SECKET. 

ture — then  looked  up  to  the  address,  and  went  through  it 
again  from  the  beginning.  His  lips  still  continued  to  work 
round  the  mouth-piece  of  the  pipe,  but  he  smoked  no  more. 
When  he  had  finished  the  second  reading,  he  set  the  letter 
down  very  gently  on  the  table,  looked  at  his  servant  with 
an  unaccustomed  vacancy  in  the  expression  of  his  eyes,  and 
took  the  pipe  out  of  his  mouth  with  a  hand  that  trembled  a 
little. 

"  Shrowl,"  he  said,  very  quietly, "  my  brother,  the  Captain, 
is  drowned." 

"  I  know  he  is,"  answered  Shrowl,  without  looking  up  from 
the  newspaper-slip.  "  I'm  reading  about  it  here." 

"  The  last  words  my  brother  said  to  me  when  we  quarreled 
about  the  player-woman,"  continued  Mr.Treverton,  speaking 
as  much  to  himself  as  to  his  servant,  "  were  that  I  should  die 
without  one  kind  feeling  in  my  heart  toward  any  living  creat 
ure." 

"  So  you  will,"  muttered  Shrowl,  turning  the  slip  over  to 
see  if  there  was  any  thing  worth  reading  at  the  back  of  it. 

"I  wonder  what  he  thought  about  me  when  he  was  dy 
ing  ?"  said  Mr.  Treverton,  abstractedly,  taking  up  the  letter 
again  from  the  table. 

"He  didn't  waste  a  thought  on  you  or  any  body  else,"  re 
marked  Shrowl.  "  If  he  thought  at  all,  he  thought  about  how 
he  could  save  his  life.  When  he  had  done  thinking  about 
that,  he  had  done  living  too."  With  this  expression  of  opin 
ion  Mr.  Shrowl  went  to  the  beer-barrel,  and  drew  his  morn 
ing  draught. 

"  Damn  that  player- woman  !"  muttered  Mr.Treverton.  As 
he  said  the  words  his  face  darkened  and  his  lips  closed  firm 
ly.  He  smoothed  the  letter  out  on  the  table.  There  seemed 
to  be  some  doubt  in  his  mind  whether  he  had  mastered  all 
its  contents  yet — some  idea  that  there  ought  to  be  more  in 
it  than  he  had  yet  discovered.  In  going  over  it  for  the  third 
time,  he  read  it  to  himself  aloud  and  very  slowly,  as  if  he 
was  determined  to  fix  every  separate  word  firmly  in  his  mem 
ory.  This  was  the  letter : 

"  SIB, — As  the  old  legal  adviser  and  faithful  friend  of  your 
family,!  am  desired  by  Mrs. Frankland,  formerly  Miss  Trev 
erton,  to  acquaint  you  with  the  sad  news  of  your  brother's 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  89 

death.  This  deplorable  event  occurred  on  board  the  ship  of 
which  he  was  captain,  during  a  gale  of  wind  in  which  the 
vessel  was  lost  on  a  reef  of  rocks  off  the  island  of  Antigua. 
I  inclose  a  detailed  account  of  the  shipwreck,  extracted  from 
The  Times,  by  which  you  will  see  that  your  brother  died  no 
bly  in  the  performance  of  his  duty  toward  the  officers  and 
men  whom  he  commanded.  I  also  send  a  slip  from  the  local 
Cornish  paper,  containing  a  memoir  of  the  deceased  gentle 
man. 

"Before  closing  this  communication,  I  must  add  that  no 
will  has  been  found,  after  the  most  rigorous  search,  among 
the  papers  of  the  late  Captain  Treverton.  Having  disposed, 
as  you  know,  of  Porthgenna,  the  only  property  of  which  he 
was  possessed  at  the  time  of  his  death  was  personal  property, 
derived  from  the  sale  of  his  estate ;  and  this,  in  consequence 
of  his  dying  intestate,  will  go  in  due  course  of  law  to  hisj 
daughter,  as  his  nearest  of  kin. 

"  I  am,  Sir,  your  obedient  servant, 

"ALEXANDER  NIXON." 

The  newspaper-slip,  which  had  fallen  on  the  table,  con 
tained  the  paragraph  from  The  Times.  The  slip  from  the 
Cornish  paper,  which  had  dropped  to  the  floor,  Shrowl  poked 
under  his  master's  eyes,  in  a  fit  of  temporary  civility,  as  soon 
as  he  had  done  reading  it.  Mr.  Treverton  took  not  the  slight 
est  notice  either  of  the  one  paragraph  or  the  other.  He  still 
sat  looking  at  the  letter,  even  after  he  had  read  it  for  the 
third  time. 

"  Why  don't  you  give  the  strip  of  print  a  turn,  as  well  as 
the  sheet  of  writing?"  asked  Shrowl.  "Why  don't  you  read 
about  what  a  great  man  your  brother  was,  and  what  a  good 
life  he  led,  and  what  a  wonderful  handsome  daughter  he's  left 
behind  him,  and  what  a  capital  marriage  she's  made  along 
with  the  man  that's  owner  of  your  old  family  estate  ?  She 
don't  want  your  money  now,  at  any  rate  !  The  ill  wind  that 
blowed  her  father's  ship  on  the  rocks  has  blowed  forty  thou 
sand  pounds  of  good  into  her  lap.  Why  don't  you  read 
about  it  ?  She  and  her  husband  have  got  a  better  house  in 
Cornwall  than  you  have  got  here.  Ain't  you  glad  of  that  ? 
They  were  going  to  have  repaired  the  place  from  top  to  bot 
tom  for  your  brother  to  go  and  live  along  with  'em  in  clover 


90  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

when  he  came  back  from  sea.  Who  will  ever  repair  a  place 
for  you  ?  I  wonder  whether  your  niece  would  knock  the  old 
house  about  for  your  sake,  now,  if  you  was  to  clean  yourself 
up  and  go  and  ask  her?" 

At  the  last  question,  Shrowl  paused  in  the  wrork  of  aggra 
vation — not  for  want  of  more  words,  but  for  want  of  encour 
agement  to  utter  them.  For  the  first  time  since  they  had 
kept  house  together,  he  had  tried  to  provoke  his  master  and 
had  failed.  Mr.  Treverton  listened,  or  appeared  to  listen, 
without  moving  a  muscle — without  the  faintest  change  to 
anger  in  his  face.  The  only  words  he  said  when  Shrowl  had 
done  were  these  two — 

"Go  out!" 

Shrowl  was  not  an  easy  man  to  move,  but  he  absolutely 
changed  color  when  he  heard  himself  suddenly  ordered  to 
leave  the  room. 

"  Go  out !"  reiterated  Mr.  Treverton.  "  And  hold  your 
tongue  henceforth  and  forever  about  my  brother  and  my 
brother's  daughter.  I  never  have  set  eyes  upon  the  player- 
woman's  child,  and  I  never  will.  Hold  your  tongue — leave 
me  alone — go  out!" 

"I'll  be  even  with  him  for  this,"  thought  Shrowl  as  he 
slowly  withdrew  from  the  room. 

When  he  had  closed  the  door,  he  listened  outside  of  it,  and 
heard  Mr.  Treverton  push  aside  his  chair,  and  walk  up  and 
down,  talking  to-  himself.  Judging  by  the  confused  words 
that  escaped  him,  Shrowl  concluded  that  his  thoughts  were 
still  running  on  the  "  player-woman"  who  had  set  his  broth 
er  and  himself  at  variance.  He  seemed  to  feel  a  barbarous 
sense  of  relief  in  venting  his  dissatisfaction  with  himself,  aft 
er  the  news  of  Captain  Treverton's  death,  on  the  memory  of 
the  woman  whom  he  hated  so  bitterly,  and  on  the  child  whom 
she  had  left  behind  her. 

After  a  while  the  low  rumbling  tones  of  his  voice  ceased 
altogether.  Shrowl  peeped  through  the  key-hole,  and  saw 
that  he  was  reading  the  newspaper-slips  which  contained  the 
account  of  the  shipwreck  and  the  Memoir  of  his  brother. 
The  latter  adverted  to  some  of  those  family  particulars  which 
the  vicar  of  Long  Beckley  had  mentioned  to  his  guest ;  and 
the  writer  of  the  Memoir  concluded  by  expressing  a  hope  that 
the  bereavement  which  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frankland  had  suffered 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  91 

would  not  interfere  with  their  project  for  repairing  Porth- 
genna  Tower,  after  they  had  gone  the  length  already  of  send 
ing  a  builder  to  survey  the  place.  Something  in  the  word 
ing  of  that  paragraph  seemed  to  take  Mr.  Treverton's  mem 
ory  back  to  his  youth-time  when  the  old  family  house  had 
been  his  home.  He  whispered  a  few  words  to  himself  which 
gloomily  referred  to  the  days  that  were  gone,  rose  from  his 
chair  impatiently,  threw  both  the  newspaper-slips  into  the 
fire,  watched  them  while  they  were  burning,  and  sighed  when 
the  black  gossamer  ashes  floated  upward  on  the  draught,  and 
were  lost  in  the  chimney. 

The  sound  of  that  sigh  startled  Shrowl  as  the  sound  of  a 
pistol-shot  might  have  startled  another  man.  His  bull-ter 
rier  eyes  opened  wide  in  astonishment,  and  he  shook  his  head 
ominously  as  he  walked  away  from  the  door. 


CHAPTER  II. 

WILL    THEY     COME? 

THE  housekeeper  at  Porthgenna  Tower  had  just  completed 
the  necessary  preparations  for  the  reception  of  her  master 
and  mistress,  at  the  time  mentioned  in  Mrs.  Frankland's  let 
ter  from  St.  Swithin's-on-Sea,  when  she  was  startled  by  re 
ceiving  a  note  sealed  with  black  wax,  and  surrounded  by  a 
thick  mourning  border.  The  note  briefly  communicated  the 
news  of  Captain  Treverton's  death,  and  informed  her  that 
the  visit  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frankland  to  Porthgenna  was  de 
ferred  for  an  indefinite  period. 

By  the  same  post  the  builder,  who  was  superintending  the 
renovation  of  the  west  staircase,  also  received  a  letter,  request 
ing  him  to  send  in  his  account  as  soon  as  the  repairs  on  which 
he  was  then  engaged  were  completed ;  and  telling  him  that 
Mr.  Frankland  was  unable,  for  the  present,  to  give  any  fur 
ther  attention  to  the  project  for  making  the  north  rooms  hab 
itable.  On  the  receipt  of  this  communication,  the  builder 
withdrew  himself  and  his  men  as  soon  as  the  west  stairs  and 
banisters  had  been  made  secure ;  and  Porthgenna  Tower  was 
again  left  to  the  care  of  the  housekeeper  and  her  servant, 
without  master  or  mistress,  friends  or  strangers,  to  thread  its 
solitary  passages  or  enliven  its  empty  rooms. 

E 


92  THE    DEAD   SECKET. 

From  this  time  eight  months  passed  away,  and  the  house 
keeper  heard  nothing  of  her  master  and  mistress,  except 
through  the  medium  of  paragraphs  in  the  local  newspaper, 
which  dubiously  referred  to  the  probability  of  their  occupy 
ing  the  old  house,  and  interesting  themselves  in  the  affairs 
of  their  tenantry,  at  no  very  distant  period.  Occasionally, 
too,  when  business  took  him  to  the  post-town,  the  steward 
collected  reports  about  his  employers  among  the  old  friends 
and  dependents  of  the  Treverton  family. 

From  these  sources  of  information,  the  housekeeper  was 
led  to  conclude  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frankland  had  returned 
to  Long  Beckley,  after  receiving  the  news  of  Captain  Trev- 
erton's  death,  and  had  lived  there  for  some  months  in  strict 
retirement.  When  they  left  that  place,  they  moved  (if  the 
newspaper  report  was  to  be  credited)  to  the  neighborhood  of 
London,  and  occupied  the  house  of  some  friends  who  were 
traveling  on  the  Continent.  Here  they  must  have  remained 
for  some  time,  for  the  new  year  came  and  brought  no  rumors 
of  any  change  in  their  place  of  abode.  January  and  Febru 
ary  passed  without  any  news  of  them.  Early  in  March  the 
steward  had  occasion  to  go  to  the  post-town.  When  he  re 
turned  to  Porthgenna,  he  came  back  with  a  new  report  re 
lating  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frankland,  which  excited  the  house 
keeper's  interest  in  an  extraordinary  degree.  In  two  differ 
ent  quarters,  each  highly  respectable,  the  steward  had  heard 
it  facetiously  announced  that  the  domestic  responsibilities  of 
his  master  and  mistress  were  likely  to  be  increased  by  their 
having  a  nurse  to  engage  and  a  crib  to  buy  at  the  end  of  the 
spring  or  the  beginning  of  the  summer.  In  plain  English, 
among  the  many  babies  who  might  be  expected  to  make  their 
appearance  in  the  world  in  the  course  of  the  next  three 
months,  there  was  one  who  would  inherit  the  name  of  Frank- 
land,  and  who  (if  the  infant  luckily  turned  out  to  be  a  boy) 
would  cause  a  sensation  throughout  West  Cornwall  as  heir 
to  the  Porthgenna  estate. 

In  the  next  month,  the  month  of  April,  before  the  house 
keeper  and  the  steward  had  done  discussing  their  last  and 
most  important  fragment  of  news,  the  postman  made  his 
welcome  appearance  at  Porthgenna  Tower,  and  brought  an 
other  note  from  Mrs.  Frankland.  The  housekeeper's  face  > 
brightened  with  unaccustomed  pleasure  and  surprise  as  she 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  93 

read  the  first  line.     The  letter  announced  that  the  long-de- 

O 

ferred  visit  of  her  master  and  mistress  to  the  old  house  would 
take  place  early  in  May,  and  that  they  might  be  expected 
to  arrive  any  day  from  the  first  to  the  tenth  of  the  month. 

The  reasons  which  had  led  the  owners  of  Porthgcnna  to  fix 
a  period,  at  last,  for  visiting  their  country  seat,  were  con 
nected  with  certain  particulars"  into  which  Mrs.  Franldand 
had  not  thought  it  advisable  to  enter  in  her  letter.  The 
plain  facts  of  the  case  were,  that  a  little  discussion  had  arisen 
between  the  husband  and  wife  in  relation  to  the  next  place 
of  residence  which  they  should  select,  after  the  return  from 
the  Continent  of  the  friends  whose  house  they  were  occupying. 
Mr.  Frankland  had  very  reasonably  suggested  returning  again 
to  Long  Beckley — not  only  because  all  their  oldest  friends 
lived  in  the  neighborhood,  but  also  (and  circumstances  made 
this  an  important  consideration)  because  the  place  had  the 
advantage  of  possessing  an  excellent  resident  medical  man. 
Unfortunately  this  latter  advantage,  so  far  from  carrying 
any  weight  with  it  in  Mrs.  Frankland's  estimation,  actually 
prejudiced  her  mind  against  the  project  of  going  to  Long 
Beckley.  She  had  always,  she  acknowledged,  felt  an  un 
reasonable  antipathy  to  the  doctor  there.  He  might  be  a 
very  skillful,  an  extremely  polite,  and  an  undeniably  respect 
able  man ;  but  she  never  had  liked  him,  and  never  should, 
and  she  was  resolved  to  oppose  the  plan  for  living  at  Long 
Beckley,  because  the  execution  of  it  would  oblige  her  to 
commit  herself  to  his  care. 

Two  other  places  of  residence  were  next  suggested ;  but 
Mrs.  Frankland  had  the  same  objection  to  oppose  to  both — 
in  each  case  the  resident  doctor  would  be  a  stranger  to  her, 
and  she  did  not  like  the  notion  of  being  attended  by  a 
stranger.  Finally,  as  she  had  all  along  anticipated,  the 
choice  of  the  future  abode  was  left  entirely  to  her  own  incli 
nations  ;  and  then,  to  the  amazement  of  her  husband  and  her 
friends,  she  immediately  decided  on  going  to  Porthgcnna. 
She  had  formed  this  strange  project,  and  was  now  resolved 
on  executing  it,  partly  because  she  was  more  curious  than 
ever  to  see  the  place  again ;  partly  because  the  doctor  who 
had  been  with  her  mother  in  Mrs.  Treverton's  last  illness^ 
and  who  had  attended  her  through  all  her  own  little  mala 
dies  when  she  was  a  child,  was  still  living  and  practicing  in 


94  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

the  Porthgenna  neighborhood.  Her  father  and  the  doctor 
had  been  old  cronies,  and  had  met  for  years  at  the  same 
chess-board  every  Saturday  night.  They  had  kept  up  their 
friendship,  when  circumstances  separated  them,  by  exchanges 
of  Christmas  presents  every  year;  and  when  the  sad  news 
of  the  Captain's  death  had  reached  Cornwall,  the  doctor  had 
written  a  letter  of  sympathy  and  condolence  to  Rosamond, 
speaking  in  such  terms  of  his  former  friend  and  patron  as  she 
could  never  forget.  He  must  be  a  nice,  fatherly  old  man 
now,  the  man  of  all  others  who  was  fittest,  on  every  account, 
to  attend  her.  In  short,  Mrs.  Frankland  was  just  as  strongly 
prejudiced  in  favor  of  employing  the  Porthgenna  doctor  as 
she  was  prejudiced  against  employing  the  Long  Beckley  doc 
tor  ;  and  she  ended,  as  all  young  married  women  with  affec 
tionate  husbands  may,  and  do  end,  whenever  they  please — by 
carrying  her  own  point,  and  having  her  own  way. 

On  the  first  of  May  the  west  rooms  were  all  ready  for  the 
reception  of  the  master  and  nfistress  of  the  house.  The  beds 
were  aired,  the  carpets  cleaned,  the  sofas  and  chairs  uncover 
ed.  The  housekeeper  put  on  her  satin  gown  and  her  garnet 
brooch ;  the  maid  followed  suit,  at  a  respectful  distance,  in 
brown  merino  and  a  pink  ribbon ;  and  the  steward,  deter 
mining  not  to  be  outdone  by  the  women,  arrayed  himself  in 
a  black  brocaded  waistcoat,  which  almost  rivaled  the  gloom 
and  grandeur  of  the  housekeeper's  satin  gown.  The  day 
wore  on,  evening  closed  in,  bed-time  came,  and  there  were 
no  signs  yet  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frankland. 

But  the  first  was  an  early  day  on  which  to  expect  them. 
The  steward  thought  so,  and  the  housekeeper  added  that  it 
would  be  foolish  to  feel  disappointed,  even  if  they  did  not  ar 
rive  until  the  fifth.  The  fifth  came,  and  still  nothing  hap 
pened.  The  sixth,  seventh,  eighth,  and  ninth  followed,  and 
no  sound  of  the  expected  carriage-wheels  came  near  the 
lonely  house. 

On  the  tenth,  and  last  day,  the  housekeeper,  the  steward, 
and  the  maid,  all  three  rose  earlier  than  usual ;  all  three 
opened  and  shut  doors,  and  went  up  and  down  stairs  oftener 
than  was  needful;  all  three  looked  out  perpetually  toward 
the  moor  and  the  high  road,  and  thought  the  view  flatter  and 
duller  and  emptier  than  ever  it  had  appeared  to  them  before. 
The  day  waned,  the  sunset  came ;  darkness  changed  the  per- 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  95 

petual  looking-out  of  the  housekeeper,  the  steward,  and  the 
maid  into  perpetual  listening ;  ten  o'clock  struck,  and  still 
there  was  nothing  to  be  heard  when  they  went  to  the  open 
window  but  the  wearisome  beating  of  the  surf  on  the  sandy 
shore. 

The  housekeeper  began  to  calculate  the  time  that  would 
be  consumed  on  the  railway  journey  from  London  to  Exeter, 
and  on  the  posting  journey  afterward  through  Cornwall  to 
Porthgenna.  When  had  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frank! and  left  Exeter  ? 
— that  was  the  first  question.  And  what  delays  might  they 
have  encountered  afterward  in  getting  horses? — that  was  the 
second.  The  housekeeper  and  the  steward  differed  in  debat 
ing  these  points  ;  but  both  agreed  that  it  was  necessary  to 
sit  up  until  midnight,  on  the  chance  of  the  master  and  mis 
tress  arriving  late.  The  maid,  hearing  her  sentence  of  ban 
ishment  from  bed  for  the  next  two  hours  pronounced  by  the 
superior  authorities,  yawned  and  sighed  mournfully — was  re 
proved  by  the  steward — and  was  furnished  by  the  house 
keeper  with  a  book  of  hymns  to  read  to  keep  up  her  spirits. 

Twelve  o'clock  struck,  and  still  the  monotonous  beating  of 
the  surf,  varied  occasionally  by  those  loud,  mysterious,  crack 
ing  noises  which  make  themselves  heard  at  night  in  an  old 
house,  were  the  only  audible  sounds.  The  steward  was  doz 
ing  ;  the  maid  was  fast  asleep  under  the  soothing  influence 
of  the  hymns ;  the  housekeeper  was  wide  awake,  with  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  window,  and  her  head  shaking  forebodingly 
from  time  to  time.  At  the  last  stroke  of  the  clock  she  left 
her  chair,  listened  attentively,  and  still  hearing  nothing, 
shook  the  maid  irritably  by  the  shoulder,  and  stamped  on 
the  floor  to  arouse  the  steward. 

"  We  may  go  to  bed,"  she  said.  "  They  are  not  coming. 
This  is  the  second  time  they  have  disappointed  us.  The  first 
time  the  Captain's  death  stood  in  the  way.  What  stops 
them  now  ?  Another  death  ?  I  shouldn't  wonder  if  it  was." 

"  Now  I  think  of  it,  no  more  should  I,"  said  the  steward, 
ominously  knitting  his  brows. 

"Another  death!"  repeated  the  housekeeper,  superstitious- 
ly.  "If  it  is  another  death,  I  should  take  it,  in  their  place, 
as  a  warning  to  keep  away  from  the  house." 


96  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 


CHAPTER  III. 

MRS.  JAZEPH. 

IF,  instead  of  hazarding  the  guess  that  a  second  death 
stood  in  the  way  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frankland's  arrival  at  Porth- 
genna,  the  housekeeper  had,  by  way  of  variety,  surmised 
this  time  that  a  birth  was  the  obstacle  which  delayed  them, 
she  might  have  established  her  character  as  a  wise  woman, 
by  hitting  at  random  on  the  actual  truth.  Her  master  and 
mistress  had  started  from  London  on  the  ninth  of  May,  and 
had  got  through  the  greater  part  of  their  railway  journey, 
when  they  were  suddenly  obliged  to  stop,  on  Mrs.  Frank- 
land's  account,  at  the  station  of  a  small  town  in  Somerset 
shire.  The  little  visitor,  who  was  destined  to  increase  the 
domestic  responsibilities  of  the  young  married  couple,  had 
chosen  to  enter  on  the  scene,  in  the  character  of  a  robust  boy- 
baby,  a  month  earlier  than  he  had  been  expected,  and  had 
modestly  preferred  to  make  his  first  appearance  in  a  small 
Somersetshire  inn,  rather  than  wait  to  be  ceremoniously  wel 
comed  to  life  in  the  great  house  of  Porthgenna,  which  he 
was  one  day  to  inherit. 

Very  few  events  had  ever  produced  a  greater  sensation  in 
the  town  of  West  Winston  than  the  one  small  event  of  the 
unexpected  stoppage  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frankland's  journey  at 
that  place.  Never  since  the  last  election  had  the  landlord 
and  landlady  of  the  Tiger's  Head  Hotel  bustled  about  their 
house  in  such  a  fever  of  excitement  as  possessed  them  when 
Mr.  Frankland's  servant  and  Mrs.  Frankland's  maid  drew  up 
at  the  door  in  a  fly  from  the  station,  to  announce  that  their 
master  and  mistress  were  behind,  and  that  the  largest  and 
quietest  rooms  in  the  hotel  were  wanted  immediately,  under 
the  most  unexpected  circumstances.  Never  since  he  had 
triumphantly  passed  his  examination  had  young  Mr.  Orridge, 
the  new  doctor,  who  had  started  in  life  by  purchasing  the 
West  Winston  practice,  felt  such  a  thrill  of  pleasurable  agita 
tion  pervade  him  from  top  to  toe  as  when  he  heard  that  the 
wife  of  a  blind  gentleman  of  great  fortune  had  been  taken  ill 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  97 

on  the  railway  journey  from  London  to  Devonshire,  and  re 
quired  all  that  his  skill  and  attention  could  do  for  her  with 
out  a  moment's  delay.  Never  since  the  last  archery  meet 
ing  and  fancy  fair  had  the  ladies  of  the  town  been  favored 
with  such  an  all-absorbing  subject  for  conversation  as  was 
now  afforded  to  them  by  Mrs.  Frankland's  mishap.  Fabu 
lous  accounts  of  the  wife's  beauty  and  the  husband's  fortune 
poured  from  the  original  source  of  the  Tiger's  Head,  and 
trickled  through  the  highways  and  byways  of  the  little  town. 
There  were  a  dozen  different  reports,  one  more  elaborately 
false  than  the  other,  about  Mr.  Fraukland's  blindness,  and  the 
cause  of  it;  about  the  lamentable  condition  in  which  his  wife 
had  arrived  at  the  hotel ;  and  about  the  painful  sense  of  re 
sponsibility  which  had  unnerved  the  inexperienced  Mr.  Or- 
ridge  from  the  first  moment  when  he  set  eyes  on  his  patient. 
It  was  not  till  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening  that  the  public 
mind  was  relieved  at  last  from  all  suspense  by  an  announce 
ment  that  the  child  was  born,  and  screaming  lustily;  that 
the  mother  was  wonderfully  well,  considering  all  things;  and 
that  Mr.  Orridge  had  covered  himself  with  distinction  by  the 
skill,  tenderness,  and  attention  with  which  he  had  performed 
his  duties. 

On  the  next  day,  and  the  next,  and  for  a  week  after  that, 
the  accounts  were  still  favorable.  But  on  the  tenth  day  a 
catastrophe  was  reported.  The  nurse  who  was  in  attendance 
on  Mrs.  Frankland  had  been  suddenly  taken  ill,  and  was  ren 
dered  quite  incapable  of  performing  any  further  service  for 
at  least  a  week  to  come,  and  perhaps  for  a  much  longer  pe 
riod. 

In  a  large  towrn  this  misfortune  might  have  been  readily 
remedied,  but  in  a  place  like  West  Winston  it  was  not  so 
easy  to  supply  the  loss  of  an  experienced  nurse  at  a  few  hours' 
notice.  When  Mr.  Orridge  was  consulted  in  the  new  emer 
gency,  he  candidly  acknowledged  that  he  required  a  little 
time  for  consideration  before  he  could  undertake  to  find  an 
other  professed  nurse  of  sufficient  character  and  experience 
to  wait  on  a  lady  like  Mrs.  Frankland.  Mr.  Frankland  sug 
gested  telegraphing  to  a  medical  friend  in  London  for  a  nurse, 
but  the  doctor  was  unwilling  for  many  reasons  to  adopt  that 
plan,  except  as  a  last  resource.  It  would  take  some  time  to 
find  the  right  person,  and  to  send  her  to  West  Winston  •  and, 


98  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

moreover,  he  would  infinitely  prefer  employing  a  woman  with 
whose  character  and  capacity  he  was  himself  acquainted. 
He  therefore  proposed  that  Mrs.  Frankland  should  be  trusted 
for  a  few  hours  to  the  care  of  her  maid,  under  supervision  of 
the  landlady  of  the  Tiger's  Head,  while  he  made  inquiries  in 
the  neighborhood.  If  the  inquiries  produced  no  satisfactory 
result,  he  should  be  ready,  when  he  called  in  the  evening,  to 
adopt  Mr.  Frankland's  idea  of  telegraphing  to  London  for  a 
nurse. 

On  proceeding  to  make  the  investigation  that  he  had  pro 
posed,  Mr.  Orridge,  although  he  spared  no  trouble,  met  with 
no  success.  He  found  plenty  of  volunteers  for  the  office  of 
nurse,  but  they  were  all  loud-voiced,  clumsy-handed,  heavy- 
footed  countrywomen,  kind  and  willing  enough,  but  sadly 
awkward,  blundering  attendants  to  place  at  the  bedside  of 
such  a  lady  as  Mrs.  Frankland.  The  morning  hours  passed 
away,  and  the  afternoon  came,  and  still  Mr.  Orridge  had  found 
no  substitute  for  the  invalided  nurse  whom  he  could  venture 
to  engage. 

At  two  o'clock  he  had  half  an  hour's  drive  before  him  to  a 
country-house  where  he  had  a  child-patient  to  see.  "Per 
haps  I  may  remember  somebody  who  may  do,  on  the  way 
out  or  on  the  way  back  again,"  thought  Mr.  Orridge,  as  he 
got  into  his  gig.  "I  have  som,e  hours  at  my  disposal  still, 
before  the  time  comes  for  my  evening  visit  at  the  inn." 

Puzzling  his  brains,  with  the  best  intention  in  the  world, 
all  along  the  road  to  the  country-house,  Mr.  Orridge  reached 
his  destination  without  having  arrived  at  any  other  conclu 
sion  than  that  he  might  just  as  well  state  his  difficulty  to  Mrs. 
Norbury,  the  lady  whose  child  he  was  about  to  prescribe  for. 
He  had  called  on  her  when  he  bought  the  West  Winston 
practice,  and  had  found  her  one  of  those  frank,  good-humored, 
middle-aged  women  who  are  generally  designated  by  the 
epithet  "motherly."  Her  husband  was  a  country  squire,  fa 
mous  for  his  old  politics,  his  old  stories,  and  his  old  wine. 
He  had  seconded  his  wife's  hearty  reception  of  the  new  doc 
tor,  with  all  the  usual  jokes  about  never  giving  him  any  em 
ployment,  and  never  letting  any  bottles  into  the  house  except 
the  bottles  that  went  down  into  the  cellar.  Mr.  Orridge  had 
been  amused  by  the  husband  and  pleased  with  the  wife ;  and 
he  thought  it  might  be  at  least  worth  while,  before  he  gave 


THE   DEAD    SECRET.  99 

up  all  hope  of  finding  a  fit  nurse,  to  ask  Mrs.  Norbury,  as  an 
old  resident  in  the  West  Winston  neighborhood,  for  a  word 
of  advice. 

Accordingly,  after  seeing  the  child,  and  pronouncing  that 
there  were  no  symptoms  about  the  little  patient  which  need 
cause  the  slightest  alarm  to  any  body,  Mr.  Orridge  paved  the 
way  for  a  statement  of  the  difficulty  that  beset  him  by  ask 
ing  Mrs.  Norbury  if  she  had  heard  of  the  "interesting  event" 
that  had  happened  at  the  Tiger's  Head. 

"  You  mean,"  answered  Mrs.  Norbury,  who  was  a  down 
right  woman,  and  a  resolute  speaker  of  the  plainest  possible 
English — "You  mean,  have  I  heard  about  that  poor  unfortu 
nate  lady  who  was  taken  ill  on  her  journey,  and  who  had  a 
child  born  at  the  inn  ?  We  have  heard  so  much,  and  no  more 
— living  as  we  do  (thank  Heaven  !)  out  of  reach  of  the  West 
Winston  gossip.  How  is  the  lady?  Who  is  she?  Is  the 
child  well?  Is  she  tolerably  comfortable?  poor  thing  !  Can 
I  send  her  any  thing,  or  do  any  thing  for  her?" 

"  You  wrould  do  a  great  thing  for  her,  and  render  a  great 
assistance  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Orridge,  "if  you  could  tell  me  of 
any  respectable  woman  in  this  neighborhood  who  would  be 
a  proper  nurse  for  her." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  the  poor  creature  has  not  got 
a  nurse  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Norbury. 

"  She  has  had  the  best  nurse  in  West  Winston,"  replied 
Mr.  Orridge.  "  But,  most  unfortunately,  the  woman  was  tak 
en  ill  this  morning,  and  was  obliged  to  go  home.  I  am  now 
at  my  wit's  end  for  somebody  to  supply  her  place.  Mrs. 
Frankland  has  been  used  to  the  luxury  of  being  well  waited 
on ;  and  where  I  am  to  find  an  attendant,  who  is  likely  to 
satisfy  her,  is  more  than  I  can  tell." 

"  Frankland,  did  you  say  her  name  w^as  ?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Norbury. 

"Yes.  She  is,  I  understand,  a  daughter  of  that  Captain 
Treverton  who  was  lost  with  his  ship  a  year  ago  in  the 
West  Indies.  Perhaps  you  may  remember  the  account  of  the 
disaster  in  the  newspapers  ?" 

"  Of  course  I  do  !  and  I  remember  the  Captain  too.  I  was 
acquainted  with  him  when  he  was  a  young  man,  at  Ports 
mouth.  His  daughter  and  I  ought  not  to  be  strangers,  espe 
cially  under  such  circumstances  as  the  poor  thing  is  placed 

E2 


100  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

in  now.  I  will  call  at  the  inn,  Mr.  Orridge,  as  soon  as  you 
will  allow  me  to  introduce  myself  to  her.  But,  in  the  mean 
time,  what  is  to  be  done  in  this  difficulty  about  the  nurse? 
Who  is  with  Mrs.  Frankland  now  ?" 

"  Her  maid ;  but  she  is  a  very  young  woman,  and  doesn't 
understand  nursing  duties.  The  landlady  of  the  inn  is  ready 
to  help  when  she  can  ;  but  then  she  has  constant  demands  on 
her  time  and  attention.  I  suppose  we  shall  have  to  telegraph 
to  London  and  get  somebody  sent  here  by  railway." 

"And  that  will  take  time,  of  course.  And  the  new  nurse 
may  turn  out  to  be  a  drunkard  or  a  thief,  or  both — when  you 
have  got  her  here,"  said  the  outspoken  Mrs.  Norbury.  "  Dear, 
dear  me!  can't  we  do  something  better  than  that?  I  am 
ready,  I  am  sure,  to  take  any  trouble,  or  make  any  sacrifice, 
if  I  can  be  of  use  to  Mrs.  Frankland.  Do  you  know,  Mr.  Or 
ridge,  I  think  it  would  be  a  good  plan  if  we  consulted  my 
housekeeper,  Mrs.  Jazeph.  She  is  an  odd  woman,  with  an 
odd  name,  you  will  say ;  but  she  has  lived  with  me  in  this 
house  more  than  five  years,  and  she  may  know  of  somebody 
in  our  neighborhood  who  might  suit  you,  though  I  don't." 
With  those  words,  Mrs.  Norbury  rang  the  bell,  and  ordered 
the  servant  who  answered  it  to  tell  Mrs.  Jazeph  that  she  was 
wanted  up  stairs  immediately. 

After  the  lapse  of  a  minute  or  so  a  soft  knock  was  heard 
at  the  door,  and  the  housekeeper  entered  the  room. 

Mr.  Orridge  looked  at  her,  the  moment  she  appeared,  with 
an  interest  and  curiosity  for  which  he  was  hardly  able  to  ac 
count.  He  judged  her,  at  a  rough  guess,  to  be  a  woman  of 
about  fifty  years  of  age.  At  the  first  glance,  his  medical  eye 
detected  that  some  of  the  intricate  machinery  of  the  nervous 
system  had  gone  wrong  with  Mrs.  Jazeph.  He  noted  the 
painful  working  of  the  muscles  of  her  face,  and  the  hectic 
flush  that  flew  into  her  cheeks  when  she  entered  the  room 
and  found  a  visitor  there.  He  observed  a  strangely  scared 
look  in  her  eyes,  and  remarked  that  it  did  not  leave  them 
when  the  rest  of  her  face  became  gradually  composed.  "  That 
wroman  has  had  some  dreadful  fright,  some  great  grief,  or 
some  wasting  complaint,"  he  thought  to  himself.  "  I  wonder 
which  it  is  ?" 

"  This  is  Mr.  Orridge,  the  medical  gentleman  who  has  late 
ly  settled  at  West  Winston,"  said  Mrs.  Norbury,  addressing 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  101 

the  housekeeper.  "He  is  in  attendance  cm  a  lady  wlio  was 
obliged  to  stop,  on  her  journey  westward,  at  our  station,  and 
who  is  now  staying  at  the  Tiger's  Head.  You  have  heard 
something  about  it,  have  you  not,  Mrs.  Jazeph  ?" 

Mrs.  Jazeph,  standing  just  inside  the  door,  looked  respect 
fully  toward  the  doctor,  and  answered  in  the  affirmative.  Al 
though  she  only  said  the  two  common  words,  "  Yes,  ma'am," 
in  a  quiet,  uninterested  way,  Mr.  Orridge  was  struck  by  the 
sweetness  and  tenderness  of  her  voice.  If  he  had  not  been 
looking  at  her,  he  would  have  supposed  it  to  be  the  voice  of  a 
young  woman.  His  eyes  remained  fixed  on  her  after  she  had 
spoken,  though  he  felt  that  they  ought  to  have  been  look 
ing  toward  her  mistress.  He,  the  most  unobservant  of  men 
in  such  things,  found  himself  noticing  her  dress,  so  that  he 
remembered,  long  afterward,  the  form  of  the  spotless  muslin 
cap  that  primly  covered  her  smooth  gray  hair,  and  the  quiet 
brown  color  of  the  silk  dress  that  fitted  so  neatly  and  hung 
around  her  in  such  spare  and  disciplined  folds.  The  little 
confusion  which  she  evidently  felt  at  finding  herself  the  ob 
ject  of  the  doctor's  attention  did  not  betray  her  into  the 
slightest  awkwardness  of  gesture  or  manner.  If  there  can  be 
such  a  thing,  physically  speaking,  as  the  grace  of  restraint, 
that  was  the  grace  which  seemed  to  govern  Mrs.  Jazeph's 
slightest  movements;  which  led  her  feet  smoothly  over  the 
carpet,  as  she  advanced  when  her  mistress  next  spoke  to  her ; 
which  governed  the  action  of  her  wan  right  hand  as  it  rested 
lightly  on  a  table  by  her  side,  while  she  stopped  to  hear  the 
next  question  that  was  addressed  to  her. 

"  Well,"  continued  Mrs.  Norbury,  "  this  poor  lady  was  just 
getting  on  comfortably,  when  the  nurse  who  was  looking 
after  her  fell  ill  this  morning ;  and  there  she  is  now,  in  a 
strange  place,  with  a  first  child,  and  no  proper  attendance — 
no  woman  of  age  and  experience  to  help  her  as  she  ought  to 
be  helped.  We  want  somebody  fit  to  wait  on  a  delicate 
woman  who  has  seen  nothing  of  the  rough  side  of  humanity. 
Mr.  Orridge  can  find  nobody  at  a  day's  notice,  and  I  can  tell 
him  of  nobody.  Can  you  help  us,  Mrs.  Jazeph?  Are  there 
any  women  down  in  the  village,  or  among  Mr.  Norbury's 
tenants,  who  understand  nursing,  and  have  some  tact  and 
tenderness  to  recommend  them  into  the  bargain?" 

Mrs.  Jazeph  reflected  for  a  little  while,  and  then  said,  very 


102  THS   DEAD   SECRET. 

respectfully,  but  Very  briefly  also,  and  still  without  any  ap 
pearance  of  interest  in  her  manner,  that  she  knew  of  no  one 
whom  she  could  recommend. 

"  Don't  make  too  sure  of  that  till  you  have  thought  a  little 

longer,"  said  Mrs.  Norbury.    "  I  have  a  particular  interest  in 

.    serving  this  lady,  for  Mr.  Orridge  told  me  just  before  you 

•   came  in  that  she  is  the  daughter  of  Captain  Treverton,  whose 

shipwreck — " 

The  instant  those  words  were  spoken,  Mrs.  Jazeph  turned 
round  with  a  start,  and  looked  at  the  doctor.  Apparently 
forgetting  that  her  right  hand  was  on  the  table,  she  moved 
it  so  suddenly  that  it  struck  against  a  bronze  statuette  of  a 
dog  placed  on  some  writing  materials.  The  statuette  fell  to 
the  ground,  and  Mrs.  Jazeph  stooped  to  pick  it  up  with  a  cry 
of  alarm  which  seemed  strangely  exaggerated  by  comparison 
with  the  trifling  nature  of  the  accident. 

"Bless  the  woman!  what  is  she  frightened  about?"  ex 
claimed  Mrs.  Norbury.  "  The  dog  is  not  hurt — put  it  back 
I  again  !  This  is  the  first  time,  Mrs.  Jazeph,  that  I  ever  knew 
i  you  do  an  awkward  thing.  You  may  take  that  as  a  com 
pliment,  I  think.  "Well,  as  I  was  saying,  this  lady  is  the 
daughter  of  Captain  Treverton,  whose  dreadful  shipwreck 
we  all  read  about  in  the  papers.  I  knew  her  father  in  my 
early  days,  and  on  that  account  I  am  doubly  anxious  to  be 
of  service  to  her  now.  Do  think  again.  Is  there  nobody 
within  reach  who  can  be  trusted  to  nurse  her?" 

The  doctor,  still  watching  Mrs.  Jazeph  with  that  secret 
medical  interest  of  his  in  her  case,  .had  seen  her  turn  so 
deadly  pale  when  she  started  and  looked  toward  him  that 
he  would  not  have  been  surprised  if  she  had  fainted  on  the 
spot.  He  now  observed  that  she  changed  color  again  when 
her  mistress  left  off  speaking.  The  hectic  red  tinged  her 
cheeks  once  more  with  two  bright  spots.  Her  timid  eyes 
wandered  uneasily  about  the  room;  and  her  fingers,  as  she 
clasped  her  hands  together,  interlaced  themselves  mechanic 
ally.  tc  That  would  be  an  interesting  case  to  treat,"  thought 
the  doctor,  following  every  nervous  movement  of  the  house 
keeper's  hands  with  watchful  eyes. 

"Do  think  again,"  repeated  Mrs.  ISTorbury.  "I  am  so 
anxious  to  help  this  poor  lady  through  her  difficulty,  if  I 


THE   PEAD   SECRET.  103 

"I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Mrs.  Jazcph,  in  faint,  trembling 
tones,  but  still  always  with  the  same  sweetness  in  her  voice — 
"  very  sorry  that  I  can  think  of  no  one  who  is  fit ;  but— 

She  stopped.  No  shy  child  on  its  first  introduction  to  the 
society  of  strangers  could  have  looked  more  disconcerted 
than  she  looked  now.  Her  eyes  were  on  the  ground ;  her 
color  was  deepening;  the  fingers  of  her  clasped  hands  were 
working  together  faster  and  faster  every  moment. 

"  But  what  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Norbury. 

"  I  was  about  to  say,  ma'am,"  answered  Mrs.  Jazeph,  speak 
ing  with  the  greatest  difficulty  and  uneasiness,  and  never  rais 
ing  her  eyes  to  her  mistress's  face,  "  that,  rather  than  this  lady 
should  want  for  a  nurse,  I  would — considering  the  interest, 
ma'am,  which  you  take  in  her — I  would,  if  you  thought  you 
could  spare  me — " 

"What,  nurse  her  yourself!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Norbury. 
"Upon  my  word,  although  you  have  got  to  it  in  rather  a 
roundabout  way,  you  have  come  to  the  point  at  last,  in  a  man 
ner  which  does  infinite  credit  to  your  kindness  of  heart  and 
your  readiness  to  make  yourself  useful.  As  to  sparing  you, 
of  course  I  am  not  so  selfish,  under  the  circumstances,  as  to 
think  twice  of  the  inconvenience  of  losing  my  housekeeper. 
But  the  question  is,  are  you  competent  as  well  as  willing  ? 
Have  you  ever  had  any  practice  in  nursing  ?" 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  answered  Mrs.  Jazeph,  still  without  raising 
her  eyes  from  the  ground.  "  Shortly  after  my  marriage"  (the 
flush  disappeared,  and  her  face  turned  pale  again  as  she  said 
those  words),  "  I  had  some  practice  in  nursing,  and  continued 
it  at  intervals  until  the  time  of  my  husband's  death.  I  only 
presume  to  offer  myself,  Sir,"  she  went  on,  turning  toward 
the  doctor,  and  becoming  more  earnest  and  self-possessed  in 
her  manner  as  she  did  so — "  I  only  presume  to  offer  myself, 
with  my  mistress's  permission,  as  a  substitute  for  a  nurse 
until  some  better  qualified  person  can  be  found." 

"  What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Orridge  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Norbury. 

It  had  been  the  doctor's  turn  to  start  when  he  first  heard 
Mrs.  Jazeph  propose  herself  for  the  office  of  nurse.  He  hesi 
tated  before  he  answered  Mrs.  Norbury's  question,  then  said: 

"  I  can  have  but  one  doubt  about  the  propriety  of  thank 
fully  accepting  Mrs.  Jazeph's  offer." 

Mrs.  Jazeph's  timid  eyes  looked  anxiously  and  perplexedly 


104  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

at  him  as  he  spoke.  Mrs.  Norbury,  in  her  downright,  abrupt 
way,  asked  immediately  what  the  doubt  was. 

"  I  feel  some  uncertainty,"  replied  Mr.  Orridge,  "  as  to 
whether  Mrs.  Jazeph — she  will  pardon  me,  as  a  medical  man, 
for  mentioning  it  —  as  to  whether  Mrs.  Jazeph  is  strong 
enough,  and  has  her  nerves  sufficiently  under  control  to  per 
form  the  duties  which  she  is  so  kindly  ready  to  undertake." 

In  spite  of  the  politeness  of  the  explanation,  Mrs.  Jazeph 
was  evidently  disconcerted  and  distressed  by  it.  A  certain 
quiet,  uncomplaining  sadness,  which  it  was  very  touching  to 
see,  overspread  her  face  as  she  turned  away,  without  another 
word,  and  walked  slowly  to  the  door. 

"  Don't  go  yet !"  cried  Mrs.  Norbury,  kindly,  "or,  at  least, 
if  you  do  go,  come  back  again  in  five  minutes.  I  am  quite 
certain  we  shall  have  something  more  to  say  to  you  then." 

Mrs.  Jazeph's  eyes  expressed  her  thanks  in  one  grateful 
glance.  They  looked  so  much  brighter  than  usual  while  they 
rested  on  her  mistress's  face,  that  Mrs.  Norbury  half  doubted 
whether  the  tears  were  not  just  rising  in  them  at  that  mo 
ment.  Before  she  could  look  again,  Mrs.  Jazeph  had  courte- 
sied  to  the  doctor,  and  had  noiselessly  left  the  room. 

"Now  we  are  alone,  Mr.  Orridge,"  said  Mrs.  Norbury,  "I 
may  tell  you,  with  all  submission  to  your  medical  judgment, 
that  you  are  a  little  exaggerating  Mrs.  Jazeph's  nervous  infir 
mities.  She  looks  poorly  enough,!  own;  but,  after  five  years' 
experience  of  her,  I  can  tell  you  that  she  is  stronger  than  she 
looks,  and  I  honestly  think  you  will  be  doing  good  service  to 
Mrs.  Frankland  if  you  try  our  volunteer  nurse,  at  least  for  a 
day  or  two.  She  is  the  gentlest,  tenderest  creature  I  ever 
met  with,  and  conscientious  to  a  fault  in  the  performance  of 
any  duty  that  she  undertakes.  Don't  be  under  any  delicacy 
about  taking  her  away.  I  gave  a  dinner-party  last  week,  and 
shall  not  give  another  for  some  time  to  come.  I  never  could 
have  spared  my  housekeeper  more  easily  than  I  can  spare 
her  now." 

"  I  am  sure  I  may  offer  Mrs.  Frankland's  thanks  to  you  as 
well  as  my  own,"  said  Mr.  Orridge.  "  After  what  you  have 
said,  it  would  be  ungracious  and  ungrateful  in  me  not  to  fol 
low  your  advice.  But  will  you  excuse  me  if  I  ask  one  ques 
tion  ?  Did  you  ever  hear  that  Mrs.  Jazeph  was  subject  to 
fits  of  any  kind?" 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  105 

"  Never." 

"  Not  even  to  hysterical  affections,  now  and  then  ?" 

"  Never,  since  she  has  been  in  this  house." 

"  You  surprise  me,  there  is  something  in  her  look  and  man 
ner—" 

"  Yes,  yes ;  every  body  remarks  that  at  first ;  but  it  simply 
means  that  she  is  in  delicate  health,  and  that  she  has  not  led 
a  very  happy  life  (as  I  suspect)  in  her  younger  days.  The 
lady  from  whom  I  had  her  (with  an  excellent  character)  told 
me  that  she  had  married  unhappily,  when  she  was  in  a  sadly 
poor,  unprotected  state.  She  never  says  any  thing  about  her 
married  troubles  herself;  but  I  believe  her  husband  ill-used 
her.  However,  it  does  not  seem  to  me  that  this  is  our  busi 
ness.  I  can  only  tell  you  again  that  she  has  been  an  excellent 
servant  here  for  the  last  five  years,  and  that,  in  your  place, 
poorly  as  she  may  look,  I  should  consider  her  as  the  best 
nurse  that  Mrs.  Frankland  could  possibly  wish  for,  under  the 
circumstances.  There  is  no  need  for  me  to  say  any  more. 
Take  Mrs.  Jazeph,  or  telegraph  to  London  for  a  stranger — 
the  decision  of  course  rests  with  you." 

Mr.  Orridge  thought  he  detected  a  slight  tone  of  irritability 
in  Mrs.  Norbury's  last  sentence.  He  was  a  prudent  man ;  and 
he  suppressed  any  doubts  he  might  still  feel  in  reference  to 
Mrs.  Jazeph's  physical  capacities  for  nursing,  rather  than  risk 
offending  the  most  important  lady  in  the  neighborhood  at  the 
outset  of  his  practice  in  West  Winston  as  a  medical  man. 

"I  can  not  hesitate  a  moment  after  what  you  have  been  good 
enough  to  tell  me,"  he  said.  "  Pray  believe  that  I  gratefully 
accept  your  kindness  and  your  housekeeper's  offer." 

Mrs.  Norbury  rang  the  bell.  It  was  answered  on  the  in 
stant  by  the  housekeeper  herself. 

The  doctor  wondered  whether  she  had  been  listening  out 
side  the  door,  and  thought  it  rather  strange,  if  she  had,  that 
she  should  be  so  anxious  to  learn  his  decision. 

"Mr.  Orridge  accepts  your  offer  with  thanks,"  said  Mrs. 
Norbury,  beckoning  to  Mrs.  Jazeph  to  advance  into  the  room. 
"  I  have  persuaded  him  that  you  are  not  quite  so  weak  and 
ill  as  you  look." 

A  gleam  of  joyful  surprise  broke  over  the  housekeeper's 
face.  It  looked  suddenly  younger  by  years  and  years,  as  she 
smiled  and  expressed  her  grateful  sense  of  the  trust  that  was 


106  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

about  to  be  reposed  in  her.  For  the  first  time,  also,  since  the 
doctor  had  seen  her,  she  ventured  on  speaking  before  she  was 
spoken  to. 

"  When  will  my  attendance  be  required,  Sir  ?"  she  asked. 

"  As  soon  as  possible,"  replied  Mr.  Orridge.  How  quickly 
and  brightly  her  dim  eyes  seemed  to  clear  as  she  heard  that 
answer  !  How  much  more  hasty  than  her  usual  movements 
was  the  movement  with  which  she  now  turned  round  and 
looked  appealingly  at  her  mistress  ! 

"  Go  whenever  Mr.  Orridge  wants  you,"  said  Mrs.  Nor- 
bury.  "  I  know  your  accounts  are  always  in  order,  and  your 
keys  always  in  their  proper  places.  You  never  make  con 
fusion  and  you  never  leave  confusion.  Go,  by  all  means,  as 
soon  as  the  doctor  wants  you." 

"I  suppose  you  have  some  preparations  to  make?"  said 
Mr.  Orridge. 

"  None,  Sir,  that  need  delay  me  more  than  half  an  hour," 
answered  Mrs.  Jazeph. 

"  This  evening  will  be  early  enough,"  said  the  doctor,  tak 
ing  his  hat,  and  bowing  to  Mrs.  Norbury.  "  Come  to  the 
Tiger's  Head,  and  ask  for  me.  I  shall  be  there  between  seven 
and  eight.  Many  thanks  again,  Mrs.  Norbury." 

"  My  best  washes  and  compliments  to  your  patient,  doctor." 

"  At  the  Tiger's  Head,  between  seven  and  eight  this  even 
ing,"  reiterated  Mr.  Orridge,  as  the  housekeeper  opened  the 
door  for  him. 

"  Between  seven  and  eight,  Sir,"  repeated  the  soft,  sweet 
voice,  sounding  younger  than  ever,  now  that  there  was  an 
under-note  of  pleasure  running  through  its  tones. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE     NEW    NURSE. 

As  the  clock  struck  seven,  Mr.  Orridge  put  on  his  hat  to 
go  to  the  Tiger's  Head.  He  had  just  opened  his  own  door, 
when  he  was  met  on  the  step  by  a  messenger,  who  summoned 
him  immediately  to  a  case  of  sudden  illness  in  the  poor  quar 
ter  of  the  town.  The  inquiries  he  made  satisfied  him  that  the 
appeal  was  really  of  an  urgent  nature,  and  that  there  was  no 
help  for  it  but  to  delay  his  attendance  for  a  little  while  at 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  107 

the  inn.  On  reaching  the  bedside  of  the  patient,  he  dis 
covered  symptoms  in  the  case  which  rendered  an  immediate 
operation  necessary.  The  performance  of  this  professional 
duty  occupied  some  time.  It  was  a  quarter  to  eight  before 
he  left  his  house,  for  the  second  time,  on  his  way  to  the 
Tiger's  Head. 

On  entering  the  inn  door,  he  was  informed  that  the  new 
nurse  had  arrived  as  early  as  seven  o'clock,  and  had  been 
waiting  for  him  in  a  room  by  herself  ever  since.  Having  re 
ceived  no  orders  from  Mr.  Orridge,  the  landlady  had  thought 
it  safest  not  to  introduce  the  stranger  to  Mrs.  Frankland  be 
fore  the  doctor  came. 

"  Did  she  ask  to  go  up  into  Mrs.  Frankland's  room  ?"  in 
quired  Mr.  Orridge. 

"  Yes,  Sir,"  replied  the  landlady.  "And  I  thought  she 
seemed  rather  put  out  when  I  said  that  I  must  beg  her  to 
wait  till  you  got  here.  Will  you  step  this  way,  and  see  her 
at  once,  Sir  ?  She  is  in  my  parlor." 

Mr.  Orridge  followed  the  landlady  into  a  little  room  at  the 
back  of  the  house,  and  found  Mrs.  Jazeph  sitting  alone  in  the 
corner  farthest  from  the  window.  He  was  rather  surprised 
to  see  that  she  drew  her  veil  down  the  moment  the  door  was 
opened. 

"  I  am  sorry  you  should  have  been  kept  waiting,"  he  said ; 
"  but  I  was  called  away  to  a  patient.  Besides,  I  told  you 
between  seven  and  eight,  if  you  remember;  and  it  is  not 
eight  o'clock  yet." 

"  I  was  very  anxious  to  be  in  good  time,  Sir,"  said  Mrs. 
Jazeph. 

There  was  an  accent  of  restraint  in  the  quiet  tones  in 
which  she  spoke  which  struck  Mr.  Orridge's  ear,  and  a  little 
perplexed  him.  She  was,  apparently,  not  only  afraid  that 
her  face  might  betray  something,  but  apprehensive  also  that 
her  voice  might  tell  him  more  than  her  wrords  expressed. 
What  feeling  was  she  anxious  to  conceal  ?  Was  it  irritation 
at  having  been  kept  waiting  so  long  by  herself  in  the  land 
lady's  room? 

"  If  you  will  follow  me,"  said  Mr.  Orridge,  "  I  will  take  you 
to  Mrs.  Frankland  immediately." 

Mrs.  Jazeph  rose  slowly,  and,  when  she  was  on  her  feet, 
rested  her  hand  for  an  instant  on  a  table  near  her.  That 


108  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

action,  momentary  as  it  was,  helped  to  confirm  the  doctor  in 
his  conviction  of  her  physical  unfitness  for  the  position  which 
she  had  volunteered  to  occupy. 

"  You  seem  tired,"  he  said,  as  he  led  the  way  out  of  the 
door.  "  Surely,  you  did  not  walk  all  the  way  here  ?" 

"  No,  Sir.  My  mistress  was  so  kind  as  to  let  one  of  the 
servants  drive  me  in  the  pony-chaise."  There  was  the  same 
restraint  in  her  voice  as  she  made  that  answer;  and  still  she 
never  attempted  to  lift  her  veil.  While  ascending  the  inn 
stairs  Mr.  Orridge  mentally  resolved  to  watch  her  first  pro 
ceedings  in  Mrs.  Frankland's  room  closely,  and  to  send,  after 
all,  for  the  London  nurse,  unless  Mrs.  Jazeph  showed  remark 
able  aptitude  in  the  performance  of  her  new  duties. 

The  room  which  Mrs.  Frankland  occupied  was  situated  at 
the  back  of  the  house,  having  been  chosen  in  that  position 
with  the  object  of  removing  her  as  much  as  possible  from 
the  bustle  and  noise  about  the  inn  door.  It  was  lighted  by 
one  window  overlooking  a  few  cottages,  beyond  which  spread 
the  rich  grazing  grounds  of  West  Somersetshire,  bounded  by 
a  long  monotonous  line  of  thickly  wooded  hills.  The  bed 
was  of  the  old-fashioned  kind,  with  the  customary  four  posts 
and  the  inevitable  damask  curtains.  It  projected  from  the 
wall  into  the  middle  of  the  room,  in  such  a  situation  as  to 
keep  the  door  on  the  right  hand  of  the  person  occupying  it, 
the  window  on  the  left,  and  the  fire-place  opposite  the  foot 
of  the  bed.  On  the  side  of  the  bed  nearest  the  window  the 
curtains  were  open,  while  at  the  foot,  and  on  the  side  near 
the  door,  they  were  closely  drawn.  By  this  arrangement  the 
interior  of  the  bed  was  necessarily  concealed  from  the  view 
of  any  person  on  first  entering  the  room. 

"  How  do  you  find  yourself  to-night,  Mrs.  Frankland  ?" 
asked  Mr.  Orridge,  reaching  out  his  hand  to  undraw  the  cur 
tains.  "  Do  you  think  you  will  be  any  the  worse  for  a  little 
freer  circulation  of  air  ?" 

"  On  the  contrary,  doctor,  I  shall  be  all  the  better,"  was 
the  answer.  "  But  I  am  afraid — in  case  you  have  ever  been 
disposed  to  consider  me  a  sensible  woman — that  my  charac 
ter  will  suffer  a  little  in  your  estimation  when  you  see  how 
I  have  been  occupying  myself  for  the  last  hour." 

Mr.  Orridge  smiled  as  he  undrew  the  curtains,  and  laughed 
outright  when  he  looked  at  the  mother  and  child. 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  109 

Mrs.  Frankland  had  been  amusing  herself,  and  gratifying 
her  taste  for  bright  colors,  by  dressing  out  her  baby  with 
blue  ribbons  as  he  lay  asleep.  lie  had  a  necklace,  shoulder- 
knots,  and  bracelets,  all  of  blue  ribbon  ;  and,  to  complete  the 
quaint  finery  of  his  costume,  his  mother's  smart  little  lace 
cap  had  been  hitched  comically  on  one  side  of  his  head. 
Rosamond  herself,  as  if  determined  to  vie  with  the  baby  in 
gayety  of  dress,  wore  a  light  pink  jacket,  ornamented  down 
the  bosom  and  over  the  sleeves  with  bows  of  white  satin  rib 
bon.  Laburnum  blossoms,  gathered  that  morning,  lay  scat 
tered  about  over  the  white  counterpane,  intermixed  with 
some  flowers  of  the  lily  of  the  valley,  tied  up  into  two  nose 
gays  with  strips  of  cherry-colored  ribbon.  Over  this  varied 
assemblage  of  colors,  over  the  baby's  smoothly  rounded 
cheeks  and  arms,  over  his  mother's  happy,  youthful  face,  the 
tender  light  of  the  May  evening  poured  tranquil  and  warm. 
Thoroughly  appreciating  the  charm  of  the  picture  which  he 
had  disclosed  on  undrawing  the  curtains,  the  doctor  stood 
looking  at  it  for  a  few  moments,  quite  forgetful  of  the  errand 
that  had  brought  him  into  the  room.  He  was  only  recalled 
to  a  remembrance  of  the  new  nurse  by  a  chance  question 
which  Mrs.  Frankland  addressed  to  him. 

"  I  can't  help  it,  doctor,"  said  Rosamond,  with  a  look  of 
apology.  "  I  really  can't  help  treating  my  baby,  now  I  am 
a  grown  woman,  just  as  I  used  to  treat  my  doll  when  I  was 
a  little  girl.  Did  any  body  come  into  the  room  with  you? 
Lenny,  are  you  there  ?  Have  you  done  dinner,  darling,  and 
did  you  drink  my  health  when  you  were  left  at  dessert  all 
by  yourself?" 

"  Mr.  Frankland  is  still  at  dinner,"  said  the  doctor.  "  But 
I  certainly  brought  some  one  into  the  room  with  me.  Where, 
in  the  name  of  wonder,  has  she  gone  to  ? — Mrs.  Jazeph  !" 

The  housekeeper  had  slipped  round  to  the  part  of  the  room 
between  the  foot  of  the  bed  and  the  fire-place,  where  she  was 
hidden  by  the  curtains  that  still  remained  drawn.  When 
Mr.  Orridge  called  to  her,  instead  of  joining  him  where  he 
stood,  opposite  the  window,  she  appeared  at  the  other  side 
of  the  bed,  where  the  window  was  behind  her.  Her  shadow 
stole  darkly  over  the  bright  picture  which  the  doctor  had  been 
admiring.  It  stretched  obliquely  across  the  counterpane,  and 
its  dusky  edges  touched  the  figures  of  the  mother  and  child. 


110  THE   DEAD   SECRET. 

"  Gracious  goodness !  who  are  you  ?"  exclaimed  Rosamond. 
"  A  woman  or  a  ghost  ?" 

Mrs.  Jazeph's  veil  was  up  at  last.  Although  her  face  was 
necessarily  in  shadow  in  the  position  which  she  had  chosen 
to  occupy,  the  doctor  saw  a  change  pass  over  it  when  Mrs. 
Frankland  spoke.  The  lips  dropped  and  quivered  a  little ; 
the  marks  of  care  and  age  about  the  mouth  deepened ;  and 
the  eyebrows  contracted  suddenly.  The  eyes  Mr.  Orridge 
could  not  see;  they  were  cast  down  on  the  counterpane  at 
the  first  word  that  Rosamond  uttered.  Judging  by  the  light 
of  his  medical  experience,  the  doctor  concluded  that  she  was 
suffering  pain,  and  trying  to  suppress  any  outward  manifes 
tation  of  it.  "  An  affection  of  the  heart,  most  likely,"  he 
thought  to  himself.  "  She  has  concealed  it  from  her  mistress, 
but  she  can't  hide  it  from  me." 

"Who  are  you?"  repeated  Rosamond.  "And  what  in  the 
world  do  you  stand  there  for — between  us  and  the  sunlight?" 

Mrs.  Jazeph  neither  answered  nor  raised  her  eyes.  She 
only  moved  back  timidly  to  the  farthest  corner  of  the  win 
dow. 

"Did  you  not  get  a  message  from  me  this  afternoon?"  ask 
ed  the  doctor,  appealing  to  Mrs.  Frankland. 

"  To  be  sure  I  did,"  replied  Rosamond.  "A  very  kind,  flat 
tering  message  about  a  new  nurse." 

"There  she  is,"  said  Mr.  Orridge,  pointing  across  the  bed 
to  Mrs.  Jazeph. 

"  You  don't  say  so !"  exclaimed  Rosamond.  "  But  of  course 
it  must  be.  Who  else  could  have  come  in  with  you  ?  I  ought 
to  have  known  that.  Pray  come  here — (what  is  her  name, 
doctor?  Joseph,  did  you  say? — No  ? — Jazeph?) — pray  come 
nearer,  Mrs.  Jazeph,  and  let  me  apologize  for  speaking  so  ab 
ruptly  to  you.  I  am  more  obliged  than  I  can  say  for  your 
kindness  in  coming  here,  and  for  your  mistress's  good-nature 
in  resigning  you  to  me.  I  hope  I  shall  not  give  you  much 
trouble,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  find  the  baby  easy  to  manage. 
He  is  a  perfect  angel,  and  sleeps  like  a  dormouse.  Dear  me ! 
now  I  look  at  you  a  little  closer,  I  am  afraid  you  are  in  very 
delicate  health  yourself.  Doctor,  if  Mrs.  Jazeph  would  not 
be  offended  with  me,  I  should  almost  feel  inclined  to  say  that 
she  looks  in  want  of  nursing  herself." 

Mrs.  Jazeph  bent  down  over  the  laburnum  blossoms  on  the 


THE   DEAD   SECRET.  Ill 

bed,  and  began  hurriedly  and  confusedly  to  gather  them  to 
gether. 

"  I  thought  as  you  do,  Mrs.  Frankland,"  said  Mr.  Orridge. 
"  But  I  have  been  assured  that  Mrs.  Jazeph's  looks  belie  her, 
and  that  her  capabilities  as  a  nurse  quite  equal  her  zeal." 

"Are  you  going  to  make  all  that  laburnum  into  a  nose 
gay?"  asked  Mrs.  Frankland,  noticing  how  the  new  nurse  was 
occupying  herself.  "  How  thoughtful  of  you  !  and  how  mag 
nificent  it  will  be  !  I  am  afraid  you  will  find  the  room  very 
untidy.  I  will  ring  for  my  maid  to  set  it  to  rights." 

"If  you  will  allow  me  to  put  it  in  order,  ma'am,  I  shall  be 
very  glad  to  begin  being  of  use  to  you  in  that  way,"  said  Mrs. 
Jazeph.  When  she  made  the  offer  she  looked  up ;  and  her 
eyes  and  Mrs.  Frankland's  met.  Rosamond  instantly  drew 
back  on  the  pillow,  and  her  color  altered  a  little. 

"  How  strangely  you  look  at  me  !"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Jazeph  started  at  the  words,  as  if  something  had 
struck  her,  and  moved  away  suddenly  to  the  window. 

"  You  are  not  offended  with  me,  I  hope?"  said  Rosamond, 
noticing  the  action.  "  I  have  a  sad  habit  of  saying  any  thing 
that  comes  uppermost.  And  I  really  thought  you  looked  just 
now  as  if  you  saw  something  about  me  that  frightened  or 
grieved  you.  Pray  put  the  room  in  order,  if  you  are  kindly 
willing  to  undertake  the  trouble.  And  never  mind  what  I 
say ;  you  will  soon  get  used  to  my  ways — and  we  shall  be  as 
comfortable  and  friendly — " 

Just  as  Mrs.  Frankland  said  the  words  "  comfortable  and 
friendly,"  the  new  nurse  left  the  window,  and  went  back  to 
the  part  of  the  room  where  she  was  hidden  from  view,  be 
tween  the  fire-place  and  the  closed  curtains  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed.  Rosamond  looked  round  to  express  her  surprise  to  the 
doctor,  but  he  turned  away  at  the  same  moment  so  as  to  oc 
cupy  a  position  which  might  enable  him  to  observe  what 
Mrs.  Jazeph  was  doing  on  the  other  side  of  the  bed-curtains. 

When  he  first  caught  sight  of  her,  her  hands  were  both 
raised  to  her  face.  Before  he  could  decide  whether  he  had 
surprised  her  in  the  act  of  clasping  them  over  her  eyes  or  not, 
they  changed  their  position,  and  were  occupied  in  removing 
her  bonnet.  After  she  had  placed  this  part  of  her  wearing 
apparel,  and  her  shawl  and  gloves,  on  a  chair  in  a  corner  of 
the  room,  she  went  to  the  dressing-table,  and  began  to  ar- 


112  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

range  the  various  useful  and  ornamental  objects  scattered 
about  it.  She  set  them  in  order  with  remarkable  dexterity 
and  neatness,  showing  a  taste  for  arrangement,  and  a  capac 
ity  for  discriminating  between  things  that  were  likely  to  be 
wanted  and  things  that  were  not,  which  impressed  Mr.  Or- 
ridge  very  favorably.  He  particularly  noticed  the  careful- 
.ness  with  which  she  handled  some  bottles  of  physic,  reading 
the  labels  on  each,  and  arranging  the  medicine  that  might 
be  required  at  night  on  one  side  of  the  table,  and  the  medi 
cine  that  might  be  required  in  the  day-time  on  the  other. 
When  she  left  the  dressing-table,  and  occupied  herself  in  set 
ting  the  furniture  straight,  and  in  folding  up  articles  of  cloth 
ing  that  had  been  thrown  on  one  side,  not  the  slightest  move 
ment  of  her  thin,  wasted  hands  seemed  ever  to  be  made  at 
hazard  or  in  vain.  Noiselessly,  modestly,  observantly,  she 
moved  from  side  to  side  of  the  room,  and  neatness  and  order 
followed  her  steps  wherever  she  went.  When  Mr.  Orridgo 
resumed  his  place  at  Mrs.  Frankland's  bedside,  his  mind  was 
at  ease  on  one  point  at  least  —  it  was  perfectly  evident  that 
the  new  nurse  could  be  depended  on  to  make  no  mistakes. 

"  What  an  odd  woman  she  is,"  whispered  Rosamond. 

"  Odd,  indeed,"  returned  Mr.  Orridge,  "  and  desperately 
broken  in  health,  though  she  may  not  confess  to  it.  How 
ever,  she  is  wonderfully  neat-handed  and  careful,  and  there 
can  be  no  harm  in  trying  her  for  one  night — that  is  to  say, 
unless  you  feel  any  objection." 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  Rosamond,  "  she  rather  interests 
me.  There  is  something  in  her  face  and  manner — I  can't  say 
what — that  makes  me  feel  curious  to  know  more  of  her.  I 
must  get  her  to  talk,  and  try  if  I  can't  bring  out  all  her  pe 
culiarities.  Don't  be  afraid  of  my  exciting  myself,  and  don't 
stop  here  in  this  dull  room  on  my  account.  I  would  much 
rather  you  went  down  stairs,  and  kept  my  husband  company 
over  his  wine.  Do  go  and  talk  to  him,  and  amuse  him  a  little 
— he  must  be  so  dull,  poor  fellow,  while  I  am  up  here ;  and  he 
likes  you,  Mr.  Orridge — he  does,  very  much.  Stop  one  mo 
ment,  and  just  look  at  the  baby  again.  He  doesn't  take  a 
dangerous  quantity  of  sleep,  does  he  ?  And,  Mr.  Orridge,  one 
word  more  :  When  you  have  done  your  wine,  you  will  promise 
to  lend  my  husband  the  use  of  your  eyes,  and  bring  him  up 
stairs  to  wish  me  good-night,  won't  you?" 


TIIE    DEAD   SECRET.  113 

Willingly  engaging  to  pay  attention  to  Mrs.  Frankland's 
request,  Mr.  Orridgc  left  the  bedside. 

As  he  opened  the  room  door,  he  stopped  to  tell  Mrs.  Jazeph 
that  he  should  be  down  stairs  if  she  wanted  him,  and  that 
he  would  give  her  any  instructions  of  which  she  might  stand 
in  need  later  in  the  evening,  before  he  left  the  inn  for  the 
night.  The  new  nurse,  when  he  passed  by  her,  was  kneeling 
over  one  of  Mrs.  Frankland's  open  trunks,  arranging  some  ar 
ticles  of  clothing  which  had  been  rather  carelessly  folded  up. 
Just  before  he  spoke  to  her,  he  observed  that  she  had  a  chem 
isette  in  her  hand,  the  frill  of  which  was  laced  through  with 
ribbon. 

One  end  of  this  ribbon  she  appeared  to  him  to  be  on  the 
point  of  drawing  out,  when  the  sound  of  his  footsteps  disturb 
ed  her.  The  moment  she  became  aware  of  his  approach  she 
dropped  the  chemisette  suddenly  in  the  trunk,  and  covered 
it  over  with  some  handkerchiefs.  Although  this  proceeding 
on  Mrs.  Jazeph's  part  rather  surprised  the  doctor,  he  abstain 
ed  from  showing  that  he  had  noticed  it.  Her  mistress  had 
vouched  for  her  character,  after  five  years'  experience  of  it, 
and  the  bit  of  ribbon  was  intrinsically  worthless.  On  both 
accounts,  it  was  impossible  to  suspect  her  of  attempting  to 
steal  it ;  and  yet,  as  Mr.  Orridge  could  not  help  feeling  when 
he  had  left  the  room,  her  conduct,  when  he  surprised  her  over 
the  trunk,  was  exactly  the  conduct  of  a  person  who  is  about 
to  commit  a  theft. 

"Pray  don't  trouble  yourself  about  my  luggage,"  said  Ros 
amond,  remarking  Mrs.  Jazeph's  occupation  as  soon  as  the 
doctor  had  gone.  "That  is  my  idle  maid's  business,  and  you 
will  only  make  her  more  careless  than  ever  if  you  do  it  for 
her.  I  am  sure  the  room  is  beautifully  set  in  order.  Come 
here  and  sit  down  and  rest  yourself.  You  must  be  a  very 
unselfish,  kind-hearted  woman  to  give  yourself  all  this  trouble 
to  serve  a  stranger.  The  doctor's  message  this  afternoon 
told  me  that  your  mistress  was  a  friend  of  my  poor,  dear  fa 
ther's.  I  suppose  she  must  have  known  him  before  my  time. 
Any  way,  I  feel  doubly  grateful  to  her  for  taking  an  interest 
in  me  for  my  father's  sake.  But  you  can  have  no  such  feel 
ing  ;  you  must  have  come  here  from  pure  good-nature  and 
anxiety  to  help  others.  Don't  go  away,  there,  to  the  win 
dow.  Come  and  sit  down  by  me." 


114  THE    DEAD   SECEET. 

Mrs.  Jazeph  had  risen  from  the  trunk,  and  was  approach 
ing  the  bedside — when  she  suddenly  turned  away  in  the  di 
rection  of  the  fire-place,  just  as  Mrs.  Frankland  began  to  speak 
of  her  father. 

"  Come  and  sit  here,"  reiterated  Rosamond,  getting  impa 
tient  at  receiving  no  answer.  "  What  in  the  world  are  you 
doing  there  at  the  foot  of  the  bed  ?" 

The  figure  of  the  new  nurse  again  interposed  between  the 
bed  and  the  fading  evening  light  that  glimmered  through  the 
window  before  there  was  any  reply. 

"The  evening  is  closing  in,"  said  Mrs.  Jazeph,  "  and  the 
window  is  not  quite  shut.  I  was  thinking  of  making  it  fast, 
and  of  drawing  down  the  blind — if  you  had  no  objection, 
ma'am  ?" 

"  Oh,  not  yet !  not  yet !  Shut  the  window,  if  you  please, 
in  case  the  baby  should  catch  cold,  but  don't  draw  down  the 
blind.  Let  me  get  my  peep  at  the  view  as  long  as  there  is 
any  light  left  to  see  it  by.  That  long  flat  stretch  of  grazing- 
ground  out  there  is  just  beginning,  at  this  dim  time,  to  look 
a  little  like  my  childish  recollections  of  a  Cornish  moor.  Do 
you  know  any  thing  about  Cornwall,  Mrs.  Jazeph  ?" 

"I  have  heard — "  "At  those  first  three  words  of  reply  the 
nurse  stopped.  She  was  just  then  engaged  in  shutting  the 
window,  and  she  seemed  to  find  some  difficulty  in  closing  the 
lock. 

"What  have  you  heard?"  asked  Rosamond. 

"  I  have'  heard  that  Cornwall  is  a  wild,  dreary  country," 
said  Mrs.  Jazeph,  still  busying  herself  with  the  lock  of  the 
window,  and,  by  consequence,  still  keeping  her  back  turned 
to  Mrs.  Frankland. 

"Can't  you  shut  the  window,  yet  ?"  said  Rosamond.  " My 
maid  always  does  it  quite  easily.  Leave  it  till  she  comes  up 
— I  am  going  to  ring  for  her  directly.  I  want  her  to  brush  my 
hair  and  cool  my  face  with  a  little  Eau  de  Cologne  and  water." 

"  I  have  shut  it,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Jazeph,  suddenly  suc 
ceeding  in  closing  the  lock.  "  And  if  you  will  allow  me,  I 
should  be  very  glad  to  make  you  comfortable  for  the  night, 
and  save  you  the  trouble  of  ringing  for  the  maid." 

Thinking  the  new  nurse  the  oddest  woman  she  had  ever 
met  with,  Mrs.  Frankland  accepted  the  offer.  By  the  time 
Mrs.  Jazeph  had  prepared  the  Eau  de  Cologne  and  water,  the 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  115 

twilight  was  falling  softly  over  the  landscape  outside,  and  the 
room  was  beginning  to  grow  dark. 

"Had  you  not  better  light  a  candle?"  suggested  Rosamond. 

"  I  think  not,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Jazeph,  rather  hastily. 
"I  can  see  quite  well  without." 

She  began  to  brush  Mrs.  Frankland's  hair  as-  she  spoke ; 
and,  at  the  same  time,  asked  a  question  which  referred  to  the 
few  words  that  had  passed  between  them  on  the  subject  of 
Cornwall.  Pleased  to  find  that  the  new  nurse  had  grown 
familiar  enough  at  last  to  speak  before  she  was  spoken  to, 
Rosamond  desired  nothing  better  than  to  talk  about  her 
recollections  of  her  native  country.  But,  from  some  inex 
plicable  reason,  Mrs.  Jazeph's  touch,  light  and  tender  as  it 
was,  had  such  a  strangely  disconcerting  effect  on  her,  that 
she  could  not  succeed,  for  the  moment,  in  collecting  her 
thoughts  so  as  to  reply,  except  in  the  briefest  manner.  The 
careful  hands  of  the  nurse  lingered  with  a  stealthy  gentle 
ness  among  the  locks  of  her  hair;  the  pale,  wasted  face  of  the 
new  nurse  approached,  every  now  and  then,  more  closely  to 
her  own  than  appeared  at  all  needful.  A  vague  sensation  of 
uneasiness,  which  she  could  not  trace  to  any  particular  part 
of  her — which  she  could  hardly  say  that  she  really  felt,  in  a 
bodily  sense,  at  all — seemed  to  be  floating  about  her,  to  be 
hanging  around  and  over  her,  like  the  air  she  breathed.  She 
could  not  move,  though  she  wanted  to  move  in  the  bed ;  she 
could  not  turn  her  head  so  as  to  humor  the  action  of  the 
brush ;  she  could  not  look  round ;  she  could  not  break  the 
embarrassing  silence  which  had  been  caused  by  her  own 
short,  discouraging  answer.  At  last  the  sense  of  oppression 
— whether  fancied  or  real— irritated  her  into  snatching  the 
brush  out  of  Mrs.  Jazeph's  hand.  The  instant  she  had  done 
so,  she  felt  ashamed  of  the  discourteous  abruptness  of  the 
action,  and  confused  at  the  alarm  and  surprise  which  the 
manner  of  the  nurse  exhibited.  With  the  strongest  sense 
of  the  absurdity  of  her  own  conduct,  and  yejb  without  the 
least  power  of  controlling  herself,  she  burst  out  laughing,  and 
tossed  the  brush  away  to  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

"  Pray  don't  look  surprised,  Mrs.  Jazeph,"  she  said,  still 
laughing  without  knowing  why,  and  without  feeling  in  the 
slightest  degree  amused.  "I'm  very  rude  and  odd,  I  know. 
You  have  brushed  my  hair  delightfully;  but — I  can't  tell 

F 


116  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

how — it  seemed,  all  the  time,  as  if  you  were  brushing  the 
strangest  fancies  into  my  head.  I  can't  help  laughing  at 
them — I  can't  indeed !  Do  you  know,  once  or  twice,  I  ab 
solutely  fancied,  when  your  face  was  closest  to  mine,  that  you 
wanted  to  kiss  me !  Did  you  ever  hear  of  any  thing  so  ridic 
ulous?  I  declare  I  am  more  of  a  baby,  in  some  things,  than 
the  little  darling  here  by  my  side !" 

Mrs.  Jazeph  made  no  answer.  She  left  the  bed  while  Ros 
amond  was  speaking,  and  came  back,  after  an  unaccountably 
long  delay,  with  the  Eau  de  Cologne  and  water.  As  she  held 
the  basin  while  Mrs.  Frankland  bathed  her  face,  she  kept 
away  at  arm's  length,  and  came  no  nearer  when  it  was  time 
to  offer  the  towel.  Rosamond  began  to  be  afraid  that  she 
had  seriously  offended  Mrs.  Jazeph,  and  tried  to  soothe  and 
propitiate  her  by  asking  questions  about  the  management  of 
the  baby.  There  was  a  slight  trembling  in  the  sweet  voice 
of  the  new  nurse,  but  not  the  faintest  tone  of  sullenness  or 
anger,  as  she  simply  and  quietly  answered  the  inquiries  ad 
dressed  to  her.  By  dint  of  keeping  the  conversation  still  on 
the  subject  of  the  child,  Mrs.  Frankland  succeeded,  little  by 
little,  in  luring  her  back  to  the  bedside — in  tempting  her  to 
bend  down  admiringly  over  the  infant — in  emboldening  her, 
at  last,  to  kiss  him  tenderly  on  the  cheek.  One  kiss  was  all 
that  she  gave ;  and  she  turned  away  from  the  bed,  after  it, 
and  sighed  heavily. 

The  sound  of  that  sigh  fell  very  sadly  on  Rosamond's 
heart.  Up  to  this  time  the  baby's  little  span  of  life  had  al 
ways  been  associated  with  smiling  faces  and  pleasant  words. 
It  made  her  uneasy  to  think  that  any  one  could  caress  him 
and  sigh  after  it. 

"  I  am  sure  you  must  be  fond  of  children,"  she  said,  hesi 
tating  a  little  from  natural  delicacy  of  feeling.  "  But  will 
you  excuse  me  for  noticing  that  it  seems  rather  a  mournful 
fondness  ?  Pray — pray  don't  answer  my  question  if  it  gives 
you  any  pain — if  you  have  any  loss  to  deplore ;  but — but  I 
do  so  want  to  ask  if  you  have  ever  had  a  child  of  your  own?" 

Mrs.  Jazeph  was  standing  near  a  chair  when  that  question 
was  put.  She  caught  fast  hold  of  the  back  of  it,  grasping  it 
so  firmly,  or  perhaps  leaning  on  it  so  heavily,  that  the  wood 
work  cracked.  Her  head  dropped  low  on  her  bosom.  She 
did  not  utter,  or  even  attempt  to  utter,  a  single  word. 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  117 

Fearing  that  she  must  have  lost  a  child  of  her  own,  and 
dreading  to  distress  her  unnecessarily  by  venturing  to  ask 
any  more  questions,  Rosamond  said  nothing,  as  she  stooped 
over  the  baby  to  kiss  him  in  her  turn.  Her  lips  rested  on 
his  cheek  a  little  above  where  Mrs.  Jazeph's  lips  had  rested 
the  moment  before,  and  they  touched  a  spot  of  wet  on  his 
smooth  warm  skin.  Fearing  that  some  of  the  water  in  which 
she  had  been  bathing  her  face  might  have  dropped  on  him, 
she  passed  her  fingers  lightly  over  his  head,  neck,  and  bosom, 
and  felt  no  other  spots  of  wet  any  where.  The  one  drop 
that  had  fallen  on  him  was  the  drop  that  wetted  the  cheek 
which  the  new  nurse  had  kissed. 

The  twilight  faded  over  the  landscape,  the  room  grew 
darker  and  darker ;  and  still,  though  she  was  now  sitting 
close  to  the  table  on  which  the  candles  and  matches  were 
placed,  Mrs.  Jazeph  made  no  attempt  to  strike  a  light.  Ros 
amond  did  not  feel  quite  comfortable  at  the  idea  of  lying 
awake  in  the  darkness,  with  nobody  in  the  room  but  a  person 
who  was  as  yet  almost  a  total  stranger ;  and  she  resolved  to 
have  the  candles  lighted  immediately. 

"  Mrs.  Jazeph,"  she  said,  looking  toward  the  gathering  ob 
scurity  outside  the  window,  "I  shall  be  much  obliged  to  you, 
if  you  will  light  the  candles  and  pull  down  the  blind.  I  can 
trace  no  more  resemblances  out  there,  now,  to  a  Cornish  pros 
pect  ;  the  view  has  gone  altogether." 

"  Are  you  very  fond  of  Cornwall,  ma'am  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Ja 
zeph,  rising,  in  rather  a  dilatory  manner,  to  light  the  candles. 

"  Indeed  I  am,"  said  Rosamond.  "  I  was  born  there ;  and 
my  husband  and  I  were  on  our  way  to  Cornwall  when  we 
were  obliged  to  stop,  on  my  account,  at  this  place.  You  are 
a  long  time  getting  the  candles  lit.  Can't  you  find  the 
match-box  ?" 

Mrs.  Jazeph,  with  an  awkwardness  which  was  rather  sur 
prising  in  a  person  who  had  shown  so  much  neat-handedness 
in  setting  the  room  to  rights,  broke  the  first  match  in  at 
tempting  to  light  it,  and  let  the  second  go  out  the  instant 
after  the  flame  was  kindled.  At  the  third  attempt  she  was 
more  successful ;  but  she  only  lit  one  candle,  and  that  one 
she  carried  away  from  the  table  which  Mrs.  Frankland  could 
see,  to  the  dressing-table,  which  was  hidden  from  her  by  the 
curtains  at  the  foot  of  the  bed. 


118  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

"  Why  do  you  move  the  candle  ?"  asked  Rosamond. 

"  I  thought  it  was  best  for  your  eyes,  ma'am,  not  to  have 
the  light  too  near  them,"  replied  Mrs.  Jazeph ;  and  then 
added  hastily,  as  if  she  was  unwilling  to  give  Mrs.  Frank- 
land  time  to  make  any  objections — "And  so  you  were  going 
to  Cornwall,  ma'am,  when  you  stopped  at  this  place  ?  To 
travel  about  there  a  little,  I  suppose  ?"  After  saying  these 
words,  she  took  up  the  second  candle,  and  passed  out  of  sight 
as  she  carried  it  to  the  dressing-table. 

Rosamond  thought  that  the  nurse,  in  spite  of  her  gentle 
looks  and  manners,  was  a  remarkably  obstinate  woman.  But 
she  was  too  good-natured  to  care  about  asserting  her  right 
to  have  the  candles  placed  where  she  pleased;  and  when  she 
answered  Mrs.  Jazeph's  question,  she  still  spoke  to  her  as 
cheerfully  and  familiarly  as  ever. 

"  Oh,  dear  no!  Not  to  travel  about,"  she  said,  "  but  to  go 
straight  to  the  old  country-house  where  I  was  born.  It  be 
longs  to  my  husband  now,  Mrs.  Jazeph.  I  have  not  been 
near  it  since  I  was  a  little  girl  of  five  years  of  age.  Such  a 
ruinous,  rambling  old  place  !  You,  who  talk  of  the  dreari 
ness  and  wildness  of  Cornwall,  would  be  quite  horrified  at  the 
very  idea  of  living  in  Porthgenna  Tower." 

The  faintly  rustling  sound  of  Mrs.  Jazeph's  silk  dress,  as 
she  moved  about  the  dressing-table,  had  been  audible  all  the 
while  Rosamond  was  speaking.  It  ceased  instantaneously 
when  she  said  the  words  "Porthgenna  Tower;"  and  for  one 
moment  there  was  a  dead  silence  in  the  room. 

"You,  who  have  been  living  all  your  life,  I  suppose,  in 
nicely  repaired  houses,  can  not  imagine  what  a  place  it  is 
that  we  are  going  to,  when  I  am  well  enough  to  travel 
again,"  pursued  Rosamond.  "  What  do  you  think,  Mrs.  Ja 
zeph,  of  a  house  with  one  whole  side  of  it  that  has  never 
been  inhabited  for  sixty  or  seventy  years  past  ?  You  may 
get  some  notion  of  the  size  of  Porthgenna  Tower  from  that. 
There  is  a  west  side  that  we  are  to  live  in  when  we  get  there, 
and  a  north  side,  where  the  empty  old  rooms  are,  which  I 
hope  we  shall  be  able  to  repair.  Only  think  of  the  hosts  of 
odd,  old-fashioned  things  that  we  may  find  in  those  uninhab 
ited  rooms !  I  mean  to  put  on  the  cook's  apron  and  the 
gardener's  gloves,  and  rummage  all  over  them  from  top  to 
bottom.  How  I  shall  astonish  the  housekeeper,  when  I  get 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  119 

to  Porthgenna,  and  ask  her  for  the  keys  of  the  ghostly  north 
rooms !" 

A  low  cry,  and  a  sound  as  if  something  had  struck  against 
the  dressing-table,  followed  Mrs.  Frankland's  last  words.  She 
started  in  the  bed,  and  asked  eagerly  what  was  the  matter. 

"  Nothing,"  answered  Mrs.  Jazeph,  speaking  so  constrained 
ly  that  her  voice  dropped  to  a  whisper.  "Nothing,  ma'am — 
nothing,  I  assure  you.  I  struck  my  side,  by  accident,  against 
the  table — pray  don't  be  alarmed! — it's  not  worth  noticing." 

"  But  you  speak  as  if  you  were  in  pain,"  said  Rosamond. 

"  No,  no — not  in  pain.     Not  hurt — not  hurt,  indeed." 

While  Mrs.  Jazeph  was  declaring  that  she  was  not  hurt, 
the  door  of  the  room  was  opened,  and  the  doctor  entered, 
leading  in  Mr.  Frankland. 

"  We  come  early,  Mrs.  Frankland,  but  we  are  going  to 
give  you  plenty  of  time  to  compose  yourself  for  the  night," 
said  Mr.  Orridge.  lie  paused,  and  noticed  that  Rosamond's 
color  was  heightened.  "  I  am  afraid  you  have  been  talking 
and  exciting  yourself  a  little  too  much,"  he  went  on.  "  If 
you  will  excuse  me  for  venturing  on  the  suggestion,  Mr. 
Frankland,  I  think  the  sooner  good-night  is  said  the  better. 
Where  is  the  nurse  ?" 

Mrs.  Jazeph  sat  down  with  her  back  to  the  lighted  candle 
when  she  heard  herself  asked  for.  Just  before  that,  she  had 
been  looking  at  Mr.  Frankland  with  an  eager,  undisguised 
curiosity,  which,  if  any  one  had  noticed  it,  must  have  appear 
ed  surprisingly  out  of  character  with  her  usual  modesty  and 
refinement  of  manner. 

"  I  am  afraid  the  nurse  has  accidentally  hurt  her  side  more 
than  she  is  willing  to  confess,"  said  Rosamond  to  the  doc 
tor,  pointing  with  one  hand  to  the  place  in  which  Mrs.  Ja 
zeph  was  sitting,  and  raising  the  other  to  her  husband's 
neck  as  he  stooped  over  her  pillow. 

Mr.  Orridge,  on  inquiring  what  had  happened,  could  not 
prevail  on  the  new  nurse  to  acknowledge  that  the  accident 
was  of  the  slightest  consequence.  He  suspected,  neverthe- 
les/,  that  she  was  suffering,  or,  at  least,  that  something  had 
happened  to  discompose  her ;  for  he  found  the  greatest  diffi 
culty  in  fixing  her  attention,  while  he  gave  her  a  few  need 
ful  directions  in  case  her  services  were  required  during  the 
night.  All  the  time  he  was  speaking,  her  eyes  wandered 


120  THE    DEAD   SECEET. 

away  from  him  to  the  part  of  the  room  where  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Frankland  were  talking  together.  Mrs.  Jazeph  looked  like 
the  last  person  in  the  world  who  would  be  guilty  of  an  act 
of  impertinent  curiosity ;  and  yet  she  openly  betrayed  all 
the  characteristics  of  an  inquisitive  woman  while  Mr.  Frank- 
land  was  standing  by  his  wife's  pillow.  The  doctor  was 
obliged  to  assume  his  most  peremptory  manner  before  he 
could  get  her  to  attend  to  him  at  all. 

"  And  now,  Mrs.  Frankland,"  said  Mr.  Orridge,  turning 
away  from  the  nurse,  "  as  I  have  given  Mrs.  Jazeph  all  the 
directions  she  wants,  I  shall  set  the  example  of  leaving  you 
in  quiet  by  saying  good-night. 

Understanding  the  hint  conveyed  in  these  words,  Mr. 
Frankland  attempted  to  say  good-night  too,  but  his  wife 
kept  tight  hold  of  both  his  hands,  and  declared  that  it  was 
unreasonable  to  expect  her  to  let  him  go  for  another  half- 
hour  at  least.  Mr.  Orridge  shook  his  head,  and  began  to  ex 
patiate  on  the  evils  of  over-excitement,  and  the  blessings  of 
composure  and  sleep.  His  remonstrances,  however,  would 
have  produced  very  little  effect,  even  if  Rosamond  had  al 
lowed  him  to  continue  them,  but  for  the  interposition  of  the 
baby,  who  happened  to  wake  up  at  that  moment,  and  who 
proved  himself  a  powerful  auxiliary  on  the  doctor's  side,  by 
absorbing  all  his  mother's  attention  immediately.  Seizing 
his  opportunity  at  the  right  moment,  Mr.  Orridge  quietly  led 
Mr.  Frankland  out  of  the  room,  just  as  Rosamond  was  tak 
ing  the  child  up  in  her  arms.  He  stopped  before  closing  the 
door  to  whisper  one  last  word  to  Mrs.  Jazeph. 

"If  Mrs.  Frankland  wants  to  talk,  you  must  not  encourage 
her,"  he  said.  "As  soon  as  she  has  quieted  the  baby,  she 
ought  to  go  to  sleep.  There  is  a  chair-bedstead  in  that  cor 
ner,  which  you  can  open  for  yourself  when  you  want  to  lie 
down.  .  Keep  the  candle  where  it  is  now,  behind  the  curtain. 
The  less  light  Mrs.  Frankland  sees,  the  sooner  she  will  com 
pose  herself  to  sleep." 

Mrs.  Jazeph  made  no  answer ;  she  only  looked  at  the  doc 
tor  and  courtesied.  That  strangely  scared  expression  in  her 
eyes,  which  he  had  noticed  on  first  seeing  her,  was  more 
painfully  apparent  than  ever  when  he  left  her  alone  for  the 
night  with  the  mother  and  child.  "She  will  never  do," 
thought  Mr.  Orridge,  as  he  led  Mr.  Frankland  down  the  inn 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  121 

stairs.  "  We  shall  have  to  send  to  London  for  a  nurse,  aft 
er  all." 

Feeling  a  little  irritated  by  the  summary  manner  in  which 
her  husband  had  been  taken  away  from  her,  Rosamond  fret 
fully  rejected  the  offers  of  assistance  which  were  made  to 
her  by  Mrs.  Jazeph  as  soon  as  the  doctor  had  left  the  room. 
The  nurse  said  nothing  when  her  services  were  declined ; 
and  yet,  judging  by  her  conduct,  she  seemed  anxious  to 
speak.  Twice  she  advanced  toward  the  bedside  —  opened 
her  lips — stopped — and  retired  confusedly,  before  she  settled 
herself  finally  in  her  former  place  by  the  dressing  -  table. 
Here  she  remained,  silent  and  out  of  sight,  until  the  child 
had  been  quieted,  and  had  fallen  asleep  in  his  mother's  arms, 
with  one  little  pink,  half-closed  hand  resting  on  her  bosom. 
Rosamond  could  not  resist  raising  the  hand  to  her  lips, 
though  she  risked  waking  him  again  by  doing  so.  As  she 
kissed  it,  the  sound  of  the  kiss  was  followed  by  a  faint,  sup 
pressed  sob,  proceeding  from  the  other  side  of  the  curtains 
at  the  lower  end  of  the  bed. 

"  What  is  that  ?"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Nothing,  ma'am,"  said  Mrs.  Jazeph,  in  the  same  con 
strained,  whispering  tones  in  which  she  had  answered  Mrs. 
Frankland's  former  question.  "I  think  I  was  just  falling 
asleep  in  the  arm-chair  here  ;  and  I  ought  to  have  told  you 
perhaps  that,  having  had  my  troubles,  and  being  afflicted 
with  a  heart  complaint,  I  have  a  habit  of  sighing  in  my  sleep. 
It  means  nothing,  ma'am,  and  I  hope  you  will  be  good 
enough  to  excuse  it." 

Rosamond's  generous  instincts  were  aroused  in  a  moment. 

"Excuse  it!"  she  said.  "I  hope  I  may  do  better  than 
that,  Mrs.  Jazeph,  and  be  the  means  of  relieving  it.  When 
Mr.  Orridge  comes  to-morrow  you  shall  consult  him,  and  I 
will  take  care  that  you  want  for  nothing  that  he  may  order. 
No  !  no  !  Don't  thank  me  until  I  have  been  the  means  of 
making  you  well — and  keep  where  you  are,  if  the  arm-chair 
is  comfortable.  The  baby  is  asleep  again  ;  and  I  should  like 
to  have  half  an  hour's  quiet  before  I  change  to  the  night  side 
of  the  bed.  Stop  where  you  are  for  the  present :  I  will  call 
as  soon  as  I  want  you." 

So  far  from  exercising  a  soothing  effect  on  Mrs.  Jazeph, 
these  kindly  meant  words  produced  the  precisely  opposite 


122  THE   DEAD   SECKET. 

result  of  making  her  restless.  She  began  to  walk  about  the 
room,  and  confusedly  attempted  to  account  for  the  change 
in  her  conduct  by  saying  that  she  wished  to  satisfy  herself 
that  all  her  arrangements  were  properly  made  for  the  night. 
In  a  few  minutes  more  she  began,  in  defiance  of  the  doctor's 
prohibition,  to  tempt  Mrs.  Frankland  into  talking  again,  by 
asking  questions  about  Porthgenna  Tower,  and  by  referring 
to  the  chances  for  and  against  its  being  chosen  as  a  perma 
nent  residence  by  the  young  married  couple. 

"Perhaps,  ma'am,"  she  said,  speaking  on  a  sudden,  with 
an  eagerness  in  her  voice  which  was  curiously  at  variance 
with  the  apparent  indifference  of  her  manner  —  "Perhaps 
when  you  see  Porthgenna  Tower  you  may  not  like  it  so  well 
as  you  think  you  will  now.  Who  can  tell  that  you  may 
not  get  tired  and  leave  the  place  again  after  a  few  days — es 
pecially  if  you  go  into  the  empty  rooms?  I  should  have 
thought — if  you  will  excuse  my  saying  so,  ma'am — I  should 
have  thought  that  a  lady  like  you  would  have  liked  to  get 
as  far  away  as  possible  from  dirt  and  dust,  and  disagreeable 
smells." 

"  I  can  face  worse  inconveniences  than  those,  where  my 
curiosity  is  concerned,"  said  Rosamond.  "And  I  am  more 
curious  to  see  the  uninhabited  rooms  at  Porthgenna  than  to 
see  the  Seven  Wonders  of  the  World.  Even  if  we  don't 
settle  altogether  at  the  old  house,  I  feel  certain  that  we  shall 
stay  there  for  some  time." 

At  that  answer,  Mrs.  Jazeph  abruptly  turned  away,  and 
asked  no  more  questions.  She  retired  to  a  corner  of  the 
room  near  the  door,  where  the  chair-bedstead  stood  which 
the  doctor  had  pointed  out  to  her — occupied  herself  for  a 
few  minutes  in  making  it  ready  for  the  night — then  left  it  as 
suddenly  as  she  had  approached  it,  and  began  to  walk  up 
and  down  once  more.  This  unaccountable  restlessness,  which 
had  already  surprised  Rosamond,  now  made  her  feel  rather 
uneasy — especially  when  she  once  or  twice  overheard  Mrs. 
Jazeph  talking  to  herself.  Judging  by  words  and  fragments 
of  sentences  that  were  audible  now  and  then,  her  mind  was 
still  running,  with  the  most  inexplicable  persistency,  on  the 
subject  of  Porthgenna  Tower.  As  the  minutes  wore  on,  and 
she  continued  to  walk  up  and  down,  and  still  went  on  talk 
ing,  Rosamond's  uneasiness  began  to  strengthen  into  some- 


THE   DEAD   SECRET.  123 

thing  like  alarm.  She  resolved  to  awaken  Mrs.  Jazeph,  in 
the  least  offensive  manner,  to  a  sense  of  the  strangeness  of 
her  own  conduct,  by  noticing  that  she  was  talking,  but  by 
not  appearing  to  understand  that  she  was  talking  to  herself. 

"  What  did  you  say  ?"  asked  Rosamond,  putting  the  ques 
tion  at  a  moment  when  the  nurse's  voice  was  most  distinctly 
betraying  her  in  the  act  of  thinking  aloud. 

Mrs.  Jazeph  stopped,  and  raised  her  head  vacantly,  as  if 
she  had  been  awakened  out  of  a  heavy  sleep. 

"I  thought  you  were  saying  something  more  about  our 
old  house,"  continued  Rosamond.  "I  thought  I. heard  you 
say  that  I  ought  not  to  go  to  Porthgenna,  or  that  you  would 
not  go  there  in  my  place,  or  something  of  that  sort." 

Mrs.  Jazeph  blushed  like  a  young  girl.  "I  think  you 
must  have  been  mistaken,  ma'am,"  she  said,  and  stooped  over 
the  chair-bedstead  again. 

Watching  her  anxiously,  Rosamond  saw  that,  while  she 
was  affecting  to  arrange  the  bedstead,  she  was  doing  noth 
ing  whatever  to  prepare  it  for  being  slept  in.  What  did 
that  mean  ?  What  did  her  whole  conduct  mean  for  the  last 
half-hour?  As  Mrs.  Frankland  asked  herself  those  ques 
tions,  the  thrill  of  a  terrible  suspicion  turned  her  cold  to  the 
very  roots  of  her  hair.  It  had  never  occurred  to  her  before, 
but  it  suddenly  struck  her  now,  with  the  force  of  positive 
conviction,  that  the  new  nurse  was  not  in  her  right  senses. 

All  that  was  unaccountable  in  her  behavior — her  odd  dis 
appearances  behind  the  curtains  at  the  foot  of  the  bed ;  her 
lingering,  stealthy,  over-familiar  way  of  using  the  hair-brush  ; 
her  silence  at  one  time,  her  talkativeness  at  another ;  her 
restlessness,  her  whispering  to  herself,  her  affectation  of  being 
deeply  engaged  in  doing  something  which  she  was  not  doing 
at  all — every  one  of  her  strange  actions  (otherwise  incompre 
hensible)  became  intelligible  in  a  moment  on  that  one  dread 
ful  supposition  that  she  was  mad. 

Terrified  as  she  was,  Rosamond  kept  her  presence  of  mind. 
One  of  her  arms  stole  instinctively  round  the  child;  and  shehacl 
half  raised  the  other  to  catch  at  the  bell-rope  hanging  above 
her  pillow,  when  she  saw  Mrs.  Jazeph  turn  and  look  at  her. 

A  woman  possessed  only  of  ordinary  nerve  would,  proba 
bly,  at  that  instant  have  pulled  at  the  bell-rope  in  the  un 
reasoning  desperation  of  sheer  fright.  Rosamond  had  cour- 

F2 


124  THE   DEAD   SECEET. 

age  enough  to  calculate  consequences,  and  to  remember  that 
Mrs.  Jazeph  would  have  time  to  lock  the  door,  before  assist 
ance  could  arrive,  if  she  betrayed  her  suspicions  by  ringing 
without  first  assigning  some  plausible  reason  for  doing  so. 
She  slowly  closed  her  eyes  as  the  nurse  looked  at  her,  partly 
to  convey  the  notion  that  she  was  composing  herself  to  sleep 
— partly  to  gain  time  to  think  of  some  safe  excuse  for  sum 
moning  her  maid.  The  flurry  of  her  spirits,  however,  inter 
fered  with  the  exercise  of  her  ingenuity.  Minute  after  min 
ute  dragged  on  heavily,  and  still  she  could  think  of  no  assign 
able  reason  for  ringing  the  bell. 

She  was  just  doubting  whether  it  would  not  be  safest  to 
send  Mrs.  Jazeph  out  of  the  room,  on  some  message  to  her 
husband,  to  lock  the  door  the  moment  she  was  alone,  and 
then  to  ring — she  was  just  doubting  whether  she  would  boldly 
adopt  this  course  of  proceeding  or  not,  when  she  heard  the 
rustle  of  the  nurse's  silk  dress  approaching  the  bedside. 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  snatch  at  the  bell-rope ;  but  fear 
had  paralyzed  her  hand;  she  could  not  raise  it  from  the 
pillow. 

The  rustling  of  the  silk  dress  ceased.  She  half  unclosed 
her  eyes,  and  saw  that  the  nurse  was  stopping  midway  be 
tween  the  part  of  the  room  from  which  she  had  advanced 
and  the  bedside.  There  was  nothing  wild  or  angry  in  her 
look.  The  agitation  which  her  face  expressed  was  the  agi 
tation  of  perplexity  and  alarm.  She  stood  rapidly  clasping 
and  unclasping  her  hands,  the  image  of  bewilderment  and 
distress — stood  so  for  nearly  a  minute — then  came  forward  a 
few  steps  more,  and  said  inquiringly,  in  a  whisper: 

"Not  asleep?  not  quite  asleep,  yet?" 

Rosamond  tried  to  speak  in  answer,  but  the  quick  beating 
of  her  heart  seemed  to  rise  up  to  her  very  lips,  and  to  stifle 
the  words  on  them. 

The  nurse  came  on,  still  with  the  same  perplexity  and  dis 
tress  in  her  face,  to  within  a  foot  of  the  bedside — knelt  down 
by  the  pillow,  and  looked  earnestly  at  Rosamond — shuddered 
a  little,  and  glanced  all  round  her,  as  if  to  make  sure  that  the 
room  was  empty — bent  forward — hesitated — bent  nearer,  and 
whispered  into  her  ear  these  words  : 

"When  you  go  to  Porthgenna,  keep  out  of  the  Myrtle 
JRoom '" 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  125 

The  hot  breath  of  the  woman,  as  she  spoke,  beat  on  Rosa 
mond's  cheek,  and  seemed  to  fly  in  one  fever-throb  through 
every  vein  of  her  body.  The  nervous  shock  of  that  unutter 
able  sensation  burst  the  bonds  of  the  terror  that  had  hitherto 
held  her  motionless  and  speechless.  She  started  up  in  bed 
with  a  scream,  caught  hold  of  the  bell-rope,  and  pulled  it 
violently. 

"  Oh,  hush  !  hush  !"  cried  Mrs.  Jazeph,  sinking  back  on  her 
knees,  and  beating  her  hands  together  despairingly  with  the 
helpless  gesticulation  of  a  child. 

Rosamond  rang  again  and  again.  Hurrying  footsteps  and 
eager  voices  were  heard  outside  on  the  stairs.  It  was  not 
ten  o'clock  yet — nobody  had  retired  for  the  night — and  the 
violent  ringing  had  already  alarmed  the  house. 

The  nurse  rose  to  her  feet,  staggered  back  from  the  bed 
side,  and  supported  herself  against  the  wall  of  the  room,  as 
the  footsteps  and  the  voices  reached  the  door.  She  said  not 
another  word.  The  hands  that  she  had  been  beating  together 
so  violently  but  an  instant  before  hung  down  nerveless  at 
her  side.  The  blank  of  a  great  agony  spread  over  all  her 
face,  and  stilled  it  awfully. 

The  first  person  who  entered  the  room  was  Mrs.  Frank- 
land's  maid,  and  the  landlady  followed  her. 

"  Fetch  Mr.  Frankland,"  said  Rosamond,  faintly,  addressing 
the  landlady.  "  I  want  to  speak  to  him  directly. — You,"  she 
continued,  beckoning  to  the  maid,  "  sit  by  me  here  till  your 
master  comes.  I  have  been  dreadfully  frightened.  Don't  ask 
me  questions ;  but  stop  here." 

The  maid  stared  at  her  mistress  in  amazement ;  then  looked 
round  with  a  disparaging  frown  at  the  nurse.  When  the 
landlady  left  the  room  to  fetch  Mr.  Frankland,  she  had  moved 
a  little  away  from  the  wall,  so  as  to  command  a  full  view  of 
the  bed.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  with  a  look  of  breathless  sus 
pense,  of  devouring  anxiety,  on  Rosamond's  face.  From  all 
her  other  features  the  expression  seemed  to  be  gone.  She 
said  nothing,  she  noticed  nothing.  She  did  not  start,  she  did 
not  move  aside  an  inch,  when  the  landlady  returned,  and  led 
Mr.  Frankland  to  his  wife. 

"  Lenny !  don't  let  the  new  nurse  stop  here  to-night — pray, 
pray  don't !"  whispered  Rosamond,  eagerly  catching  her  hus 
band  by  the  arm. 


126  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

Warned  by  the  trembling  of  her  hand,  Mr.  Frankland  laid 
his  fingers  lightly  on  her  temples  and  on  her  heart. 

"  Good  Heavens,  Rosamond  !  what  has  happened  ?  I  left 
you  quiet  and  comfortable,  and  now — " 

"  I've  been  frightened,  dear — dreadfully  frightened,  by  the 
new  nurse.  Don't  be  hard  on  her,  poor  creature  ;  she  is  not 
in  her  right  senses — I  am  certain  she  is  not.  Only  get  her 
away  quietly — only  send  her  back  at  once  to  where  she  came 
from.  I  shall  die  of  the  fright,  if  she  stops  here.  She  has 
been  behaving  so  strangely — she  has  spoken  such  words  to 
me — Lenny!  Lenny!  don't  let  go  of  my  hand.  She  came 
stealing  up  to  me  so  horribly, just  where  you  are  now;  she 
knelt  down  at  my  ear,  and  whispered — oh,  such  words !" 

"  Hush,  hush,  love  !"  said  Mr.  Frankland,  getting  seriously 
alarmed  by  the  violence  of  Rosamond's  agitation.  "  Never 
mind  repeating  the  words  now ;  wait  till  you  are  calmer — I 
beg  and  entreat  of  you,  wait  till  you  are  calmer.  I  will  do 
every  tiding  you  wish,  if  you  will  only  lie  down  and  be  quiet, 
and  try  to  compose  yourself  before  you  say  another  word. 
It  is  quite  enough  for  me  to  know  that  this  woman  has 
frightened  you,  and  that  you  wish  her  to  be  sent  away  with 
as  little  harshness  as  possible.  We  will  put  off  all  further 
explanations  till  to-morrow  morning.  I  deeply  regret  now 
that  I  did  not  persist  in  carrying  out  my  own  idea  of  send 
ing  for  a  proper  nurse  from  London.  Where  is  the  land 
lady?" 

The  landlady  placed  herself  by  Mr.  Frankland's  side. 

"  Is  it  late  ?"  asked  Leonard. 

"  Oh  no,  Sir ;  not  ten  o'clock  yet." 

"  Order  a  fly  to  be  brought  to  the  door,  then,  as  soon  as 
possible,  if  you  please.  Where  is  the  nurse  ?" 

"  Standing  behind  you,  Sir,  near  the  wall,"  said  the  maid. 

As  Mr.  Frankland  turned  in  that  direction,  Rosamond  whis 
pered  to  him  :  "Don't  be  hard  on  her,  Lenny." 

The  maid,  looking  with  contemptuous  curiosity  at  Mrs.  Ja- 
zeph,  saw  the  whole  expression  of  her  countenance  alter,  as 
those  words  were  spoken.  The  tears  rose  thick  in  her  eyes, 
and  flowed  down  her  cheeks.  The  deathly  spell  of  stillness 
that  had  lain  on  her  face  was  broken  in  an  instant.  She  drew 
back  again,  close  to  the  wall,  and  leaned  against  it  as  before. 
"  Don't  be  hard  on  her !"  the  maid  heard  her  repeat  to  herself, 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  127 

in  a  low  sobbing  voice.  "  Don't  be  hard  on  her !  Oh,  my 
God  !  she  said  that  kindly — she  said  that  kindly,  at  least !" 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  speak  to  you,  or  to  use  you  unkindly," 
said  Mr.  Frankland,  imperfectly  hearing  what  she  said.  "  I 
know  nothing  of  what  has  happened,  and  I  make  no  accusa 
tions.  I  find  Mrs. Frankland  violently  agitated  and  frighten 
ed  ;  I  hear  her  connect  that  agitation  with  you — not  angrily, 
but  compassionately — and,  instead  of  speaking  harshly,  I  pre 
fer  leaving  it  to  your  own  sense  of  what  is  right,  to  decide 
whether  your  attendance  here  ought  not  to  cease  at  once.  I 
have  provided  the  proper  means  for  your  conveyance  from 
this  place ;  and  I  would  suggest  that  you  should  make  our 
apologies  to  your  mistress,  and  say  nothing  more  than  that 
circumstances  have  happened  which  oblige  us  to  dispense 
with  your  services." 

"  You  have  been  considerate  toward  me,  Sir,"  said  Mrs.  Ja- 
zeph,  speaking  quietly,  and  with  a  certain  gentle  dignity  in 
her  manner,  "  and  I  will  not  prove  myself  unworthy  of  your 
forbearance  by  saying  what  I  might  say  in  my  own  defense." 
She  advanced  into  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  stopped  where 
she  could  see  Rosamond  plainly.  Twice  she  attempted  to 
speak,  and  twice  her  voice  failed  her.  At  the  third  effort 
she  succeeded  in  controlling  herself. 

"  Before  I  go,  ma'am,"  she  said, "  I  hope  you  will  believe 
that  I  have  no  bitter  feeling  against  you  for  sending  me 
away.  I  am  not  angry — pray  remember  always  that  I  was 
not  angry,  and  that  I  never  complained." 

There  was  such  a  forlornness  in  her  face,  such  a  sweet,  sor 
rowful  resignation  in  every  tone  of  her  voice  during  the 
utterance  of  these  few  words,  that  Rosamond's  heart  smote 
her. 

"  Why  did  you  frighten  me  ?"  she  asked,  half  relenting. 

"  Frighten  you  ?  How  could  I  frighten  you  ?  Oh  me  !  of 
all  the  people  in  the  world,  how  could  I  frighten  you  ?" 

Mournfully  saying  those  words,  the  nurse  went  to  the 
chair  on  which  she  had  placed  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  put 
them  on.  The  landlady  and  the  maid,  watching  her  with 
curious  eyes,  detected  that  she  was  again  weeping  bitterly, 
and  noticed  with  astonishment,  at  the  same  time,  how  neatly 
she  put  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl.  The  wasted  hands  were 
moving  mechanically,  and  were  trembling  while  they  moved, 


128  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

— and  yet,  slight  thing  though  it  was,  the  inexorable  instinct 
of  propriety  guided  their  most  trifling  actions  still. 

On  her  way  to  the  door,  she  stopped  again  at  passing  the 
bedside,  looked  through  her  tears  at  Rosamond  and  the  child, 
struggled  a  little  with  herself,  and  then  spoke  her  farewell 
words — 

"  God  bless  you,  and  keep  you  and  your  child  happy  and 
prosperous,"  she  said.  "  I  am  not  angry  at  being  sent  away. 
If  you  ever  think  of  me  again,  after  to-mght,  please  to  re 
member  that  I  was  not  angry,  and  that  I  never  complained." 

She  stood  for  a  moment  longer,  still  weeping,  and  still 
looking  through  her  tears  at  the  mother  and  child — then 
turned  away  and  walked  to  the  door.  Something  in  the  last 
tones  of  her  voice  caused  a  silence  in  the  room.  Of  the  four 
persons  in  it  not  one  could  utter  a  word,  as  the  nurse  closed 
the  door  gently,  and  went  out  from  them  alone. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A   COUNCIL    OF   THREE. 

Ox  the  morning  after  the  departure  of  Mrs.  Jazeph,  the 
news  that  she  had  been  sent  away  from  the  Tiger's  Head  by 
Mr.  Frankland's  directions,  reached  the  doctor's  residence 
from  the  inn  just  as  he  was  sitting  down  to  breakfast.  Find 
ing  that  the  report  of  the  nurse's  dismissal  was  not  accom 
panied  by  any  satisfactory  explanation  of  the  cause  of  it,  Mr. 
Orridge  refused  to  believe  that  her  attendance  on  Mrs.  Frank- 
land  had  really  ceased.  However,  although  he  declined  to 
credit  the  news,  he  was  so  far  disturbed  by  it  that  he  finished 
his  breakfast  in  a  hurry,  and  went  to  pay  his  morning  visit 
at  the  Tiger's  Head  nearly  two  hours  before  the  time  at 
which  he  usually  attended  on  his  patient. 

On  his  way  to  the  inn,  he  was  met  and  stopped  by  the  one 
waiter  attached  to  the  establishment.  "I  was  just  bringing 
you  a  message  from  Mr.  Frankland,  Sir,"  said  the  man.  "  He 
wants  to  see  you  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  Is  it  true  that  Mrs.  Frankland's  nurse  was  sent  away  last 
night  by  Mr.  Frankland's  order  ?"  asked  Mr.  Orridge. 

"  Quite  true,  Sir,"  answered  the  waiter. 

The  doctor  colored,  and  looked  seriously  discomposed.   One 


\ 

% 

THE   DEAD    SECRET.  129 

of  the  most  precious  things  we  have  about  us — especially  if 
we  happen  to  belong  to  the  medical  profession — is  our  dig 
nity.  It  struck  Mr.  Orridge  that  he  ought  to  have  been  con 
sulted  before  a  nurse  of  his  recommending  was  dismissed 
from  her  situation  at  a  moment's  notice.  Was  Mr.  Frank- 
land  presuming  upon  his  position  as  a  gentleman  of  fortune  ? 
The  power  of  wealth  may  do  much  with  impunity,  but  it  is 
not  privileged  to  offer  any  practical  contradictions  to  a  man's 
good  opinion  of  himself.  Never  had  the  doctor  thought 
more  disrespectfully  of  rank  and  riches ;  never  had  he  been 
conscious  of  reflecting  on  republican  principles  with  such  ab 
solute  impartiality,  as  when  he  now  followed  the  waiter  in 
sullen  silence  to  Mr.  Frankland's  room. 

"  Who  is  that  ?"  asked  Leonard,  when  he  heard  the  door 
open. 

"  Mr.  Orridge,  Sir,"  said  the  waiter. 

"  Good-morning,"  said  Mr.  Orridge,  with  self-asserting  ab 
ruptness  and  familiarity. 

Mr.  Frankland  was  sitting  in  an  arm-chair,  with  his  legs 
crossed.  Mr.  Orridge  carefully  selected  another  arm-chair, 
and  crossed  his  legs  on  the  model  of  Mr.  Frankland's  the  mo 
ment  he  sat  down.  Mr.  Frankland's  hands  were  in  the  pock 
ets  of  his  dressing-gown.  Mr.  Orridge  had  no  pockets,  ex 
cept  in  his  coat-tails,  which  he  could  not  conveniently  get 
at ;  but  he  put  his  thumbs  into  the  arm-holes  of  his  waist 
coat,  and  asserted  himself  against  the  easy  insolence  of 
wealth  in  that  way.  It  made  no  difference  to  him — so  cu 
riously  narrow  is  the  range  of  a  man's  perceptions  when  he 
is  insisting  on  his  own  importance — that  Mr.  Frankland  was 
blind,  and  consequently  incapable  of  being  impressed  by 
the  independence  of  his  bearing.  Mr.  Orridge's  own  dignity 
was  vindicated  in  Mr.  Orridge's  own  presence,  and  that  was 
enough. 

"I  am  glad  you  have  come  so  early,  doctor,"  said  Mr. 
Frankland.  "  A  very  unpleasant  thing  happened  here  last 
night.  I  was  obliged  to  send  the  new  nurse  away  at  a  mo 
ment's  notice." 

"  Were  you,  indeed !"  said  Mr.  Orridge,  defensively  match 
ing  Mr.  Frankland's  composure  by  an  assumption  of  the  com- 
pletest  indifference.  "  Aha  !  were  you  indeed  ?" 

"  If  there  had  been  time  to  send  and  consult  you,  of  course 


130  THE   DEAD   SECEET. 

I  should  have  been  only  too  glad  to  have  done  so,"  continued 
Leonard  ;  "  but  it  was  impossible  to  hesitate.  We  were  all 
alarmed  by  a  loud  ringing  of  my  wife's  bell ;  I  was  taken  up 
to  her  room,  and  found  her  in  a  condition  of  the  most  violent 
agitation  and  alarm.  She  told  me  she  had  been  dreadfully 
frightened  by  the  new  nurse ;  declared  her  conviction  that 
the  woman  was  not  in  her  right  senses ;  and  entreated  that  I 
would  get  her  out  of  the  house  with  as  little  delay  and  as 
little  harshness  as  possible.  Under  these  circumstances,  what 
could  I  do  ?  I  may  seem  to  have  been  wanting  in  consider 
ation  toward  you,  in  proceeding  on  my  own  sole  responsi 
bility  ;  but  Mrs.  Frankland  was  in  such  a  state  of  excitement 
that  I  could  not  tell  what  might  be  the  consequence  of  op 
posing  her,  or  of  venturing  on  any  delays;  and  after  the  dif 
ficulty  had  been  got  over,  she  would  not  hear  of  your  being 
disturbed  by  a  summons  to  the  inn.  I  am  sure  you  will  un 
derstand  this  explanation,  doctor,  in  the  spirit  in  which  I  of 
fer  it." 

Mr.  Orridge  began  to  look  a  little  confused.  His  solid  sub 
structure  of  independence  was  softening  and  sinking  from 
under  him.  He  suddenly  found  himself  thinking  of  the  cul 
tivated  manners  of  the  wealthy  classes ;  his  thumbs  slipped 
mechanically  out  of  the  arm-holes  of  his  waistcoat ;  and,  be 
fore  he  well  knew  what  he  was  about,  he  was  stammering 
his  way  through  all  the  choicest  intricacies  of  a  compliment 
ary  and  respectful  reply. 

"You  will  naturally  be  anxious  to  know  what  the  new 
nurse  said  or  did  to  frighten  my  wife  so,"  pursued  Mr.  Frank- 
land.  "  I  can  tell  you  nothing  in  detail ;  for  Mrs.  Frankland 
was  in  such  a  state  of  nervous  dread  last  night  that  I  was 
really  afraid  of  asking  for  any  explanations;  and  I  have  pur 
posely  waited  to  make  inquiries  this  morning  until  you  could 
come  here  and  accompany  me  up  stairs.  You  kindly  took 
so  much  trouble  to  secure  this  unlucky  woman's  attendance, 
that  you  have  a  right  to  hear  all  that  can  be  alleged  against 
her,  now  she  has  been  sent  away.  Considering  all  things, 
Mrs.  Frankland  is  not  so  ill  this  morning  as  I  was  afraid  she 
would  be.  She  expects  to  see  you  with  me ;  and,  if  you  will 
kindly  give  me  your  arm,  we  will  go  up  to  her  immedi 
ately." 

On  entering  Mrs.  Frankland's  room,  the  doctor  saw  at  a 


THE    DEAD    SECKET.  131 

glance  that  she  had  been  altered  for  the  worse  by  the  events 
of  the  past  evening.  He  remarked  that  the  smile  with  which 
she  srreeted  her  husband  was  the  faintest  and  saddest  he  had 

O 

seen  on  her  face.  Her  eyes  looked  dim  and  weary,  her  skin 
was  dry,  her  pulse  was  irregular.  It  was  plain  that  she  had 
passed  a  wakeful  night,  and  that  her  mind  was  not  at  ease. 
She  dismissed  the  inquiries  of  her  medical  attendant  as  briefly 
as  possible,  and  led  the  conversation  immediately,  of  her  own 
accord,  to  the  subject  of  Mrs.  Jazeph. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  heard  what  has  happened,"  she  said, 
addressing  Mr.  Orridge.  "  I  can't  tell  you  how  grieved  I  am 
about  it.  My  conduct  must  look  in  your  eyes,  as  well  as  in 
the  eyes  of  the  poor  unfortunate  nurse,  the  conduct  of  a  ca 
pricious,  unfeeling  woman.  I  am  ready  to  cry  with  sorrow 
and  vexation  when  I  remember  how  thoughtless  I  was,  and 
how  little  courage  I  showed.  Oh,  Lenny,  it  is  dreadful  to 
hurt  the  feelings  of  any  body,  but  to  have  pained  that  un 
happy,  helpless  woman  as  we  pained  her,  to  have  made  her 
cry  so  bitterly,  to  have  caused  her  such  humiliation  and 
wretchedness — " 

"  My  dear  Rosamond,"  interposed  Mr.  Frankland,  "  you 
are  lamenting  effects,  and  forgetting  causes  altogether.  Re 
member  what  a  state  of  terror  I  found  you  in — there  must 
have  been  some  reason  for  that.  Remember,  too,  how  strong 

O 

your  conviction  was  that  the  nurse  was  out  of  her  senses. 
Surely  you  have  not  altered  your  opinion  on  that  point  al 
ready?" 

"  It  is  that  very  opinion,  love,  that  has  been  perplexing 
and  worrying  me  all  night.  I  can't  alter  it ;  I  feel  more  cer 
tain  than  ever  that  there  must  be  something  wrong  with  the 
poor  creature's  intellect — and  yet,  when  I  remember  how 
good-naturedly  she  came  here  to  help  me,  and  how  anxious 
she  seemed  to  make  herself  useful,  I  can't  help  feeling 
ashamed  of  my  suspicions ;  I  can't  help  reproaching  myself 
for  having  been  the  cause  of  her  dismissal  last  night.  Mr. 
Orridge,  did  you  notice  any  thing  in  Mrs.  Jazeph's  face  or 
manner  which  might  lead  you  to  doubt  whether  her  intellects 
were  quite  as  sound  as  they  ought  to  be  ?" 

"  Certainly  not,  Mrs.  Frankland,  or  I  should  never  have 
brought  her  here.  I  should  not  have  been  astonished  to 
hear  that  she  was  suddenly  taken  ill,  or  that  she  had  been 


132  THE   DEAD   SECRET. 

seized  with  a  fit,  or  that  some  slight  accident,  which  would 
have  frightened  nobody  else,  had  seriously  frightened  her; 
but  to  be  told  that  there  is  any  thing  approaching  to  de 
rangement  in  her  faculties,  does,  I  own,  fairly  surprise  me." 

"  Can  I  have  been  mistaken  !"  exclaimed  Rosamond,  look 
ing  confusedly  and  self-distrustfully  from  Mr.  Orridge  to  her 
husband.  "  Lenny  !  Lenny  !  if  I  have  been  mistaken,  I  shall 
never  forgive  myself." 

"  Suppose  you  tell  us,  my  dear,  what  led  you  to  suspect 
that  she  was  mad  ?"  suggested  Mr.  Frankland. 

Rosamond  hesitated.  "  Things  that  are  great  in  one's  own 
mind,"  she  said,  "seem  to  get  so  little  when  they  are  put  into 
words.  I  almost  despair  of  making  you  understand  what 
good  reason  I  had  to  be  frightened — and  then,  I  am  afraid, 
in  trying  to  do  justice  to  myself,  that  I  may  not  do  justice 
to  the  nurse." 

"  Tell  your  own  story,  my  love,  in  your  own  way,  and  you 
will  be  sure  to  tell  it  properly,"  said  Mr.  Frankland. 

"And  pray  remember,"  added  Mr.  Orridge,  "that  I  attach 
no  real  importance  to  my  opinion  of  Mrs.  Jazeph.  I  have 
not  had  time  enough  to  form  it.  Your  opportunities  of  ob 
serving  her  have  been  far  more  numerous  than  mine." 

Thus  encouraged,  Rosamond  plainly  and  simply  related  all 
that  had  happened  in  her  room  on  the  previous  evening,  up 
to  the  time  when  she  had  closed  her  eyes  and  had  heard  the 
nurse  approaching  her  bedside.  Before  repeating  the  ex 
traordinary  words  that  Mrs.  Jazeph  had  whispered  in  her 
ear,  she  made  a  pause,  and  looked  earnestly  in  her  husband's 
face. 

"  Why  do  you  stop  ?"  asked  Mr.  Frankland. 

"  I  feel  nervous  and  flurried  still,  Lenny,  when  I  think  of 
the  words  the  nurse  said  to  me,  just  before  I  rang  the  bell." 

"  What  did  she  say  ?  Was  it  something  you  would  rather 
not  repeat  ?" 

"  No !  no !  I  am  most  anxious  to  repeat  it,  and  to  hear 
what  you  think  it  means.  As  I  have  just  told  you,  Lenny, 
we  had  been  talking  of  Porthgenna,  and  of  my  project  of  ex 
ploring  the  north  rooms  as  soon  as  I  got  there ;  and  she  had 
been  asking  many  questions  about  the  old  house;  appearing, 
I  must  say,  to  be  unaccountably  interested  in  it,  considering 
she  was  a  stranger." 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  133 

"Yes?" 

"  Well,  when  she  came  to  the  bedside,  she  knelt  down  close 
at  my  ear,  and  whispered  all  on  a  sudden — 'When  you  go 
to  Porthgenna,  keep  out  of  the  Myrtle  Room  !' " 

Mr.  Frankland  started.  "  Is  there  such  a  room  at  Porth 
genna?"  he  asked,  eagerly. 

"  I  never  heard  of  it,"  said  Rosamond. 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Orridge.  Up  to  this 
moment  the  doctor  had  privately  suspected  that  Mrs.  Frank- 
land  must  have  fallen  asleep  soon  after  he  left  her  the  evening 
before ;  and  that  the  narrative  which  she  was  now  relating, 
with  the  sincerest  conviction  of  its  reality,  was  actually  de 
rived  from  nothing  but  a  series  of  vivid  impressions  produced 
by  a  dream. 

"  I  am  certain  I  never  heard  of  such  a  room,"  said  Rosa 
mond.  "  I  left  Porthgenna  at  five  years  old ;  and  I  had  never 
heard  of  it  then.  My  father  often  talked  of  the  house  in  after- 
years  ;  but  I  am  certain  that  he  never  spoke  of  any  of  the 
rooms  by  any  particular  names ;  and  I  can  say  the  same  of 
your  fatlier,  Lenny,  whenever  I  was  in  his  company  after  he 
had  bought  the  place.  Besides,  don't  you  remember,  when 
the  builder  we  sent  down  to  survey  the  house  wrote  you  that 
letter,  he  complained  that  there  were  no  names  of  the  rooms 
on  the  different  keys  to  guide  him  in  opening  the  doors,  and 
that  he  could  get  no  information  from  any  body  at  Porth 
genna  on  the  subject?  How  could  I  ever  have  heard  of  the 
Myrtle  Room  ?  Who  was  there  to  tell  me  ?" 

Mr.  Orridge  began  to  look  perplexed ;  it  seemed  by  no 
means  so  certain  that  Mrs.  Frankland  had  been  dreaming, 
after  all. 

"  I  have  thought  of  nothing  else,"  said  Rosamond  to  her 
husband,  in  low,  whispering  tones.  "  I  can't  get  those  mys 
terious  words  off  my  mind.  Feel  my  heart,  Lenny — it  is 
beating  quicker  than  usual  only  with  saying  them  over  to 
you.  They  are  such  very  strange,  startling  words.  What 
do  you  think  they  mean  ?" 

"  Who  is  the  woman  who  spoke  them  ? — that  is  the  most 
important  question,"  said  Mr.  Frankland. 

"But  why  did  she  say  the  words  to  me?  That  is  what  I 
want  to  know — that  is  what  I  must  know,  if  I  am  ever  to 
feel  easy  in  my  mind  again !" 


134  THE   DEAD    SECKET. 

"  Gently,  Mrs.  Frankland,  gently !"  said  Mr.  Orridge.  "  For 
your  child's  sake,  as  well  as  for  your  own,  pray  try  to  be 
calm,  and  to  look  at  this  very  mysterious  event  as  composed 
ly  as  you  can.  If  any  exertions  of  mine  can  throw  light  upon 
this  strange  woman  and  her  still  stranger  conduct,  I  will  not 
spare  them.  I  am  going  to-day  to  her  mistress's  house  to  see 
one  of  the  children ;  and,  depend  upon  it,  I  will  manage  in 
some  way  to  make  Mrs.  Jazeph  explain  herself.  Her  mistress 
shall  hear  every  word  that  you  have  told  me ;  and  I  can  as 
sure  you  she  is  just  the  sort  of  downright,  resolute  woman 
who  will  insist  on  having  the  whole  mystery  instantly 
cleared  up." 

Rosamond's  weary  eyes  brightened  at  the  doctor's  propo 
sal.  "  Oh,  go  at  once,  Mr.  Orridge !"  she  exclaimed — "  go  at 
once !" 

"  I  have  a  great  deal  of  medical  work  to  do  in  the  town 
first,"  said  the  doctor,  smiling  at  Mrs.  Fraukland's  impatience. 

"  Begin  it,  then,  without  losing  another  instant,"  said  Ros 
amond.  "  The  baby  is  quite  well,  and  I  am  quite  well — we 
need  not  detain  you  a  moment.  And,  Mr.  Orridge,  pray  be 
as  gentle  and  considerate  as  possible  with  the  poor  woman ; 
and  tell  her  that  I  never  should  have  thought  of  sending  her 
away  if  I  had  not  been  too  frightened  to  know  what  I  was 
about.  And  say  how  sorry  I  am  this  morning,  and  say — " 

"  My  dear,  if  Mrs.  Jazeph  is  really  not  in  her  right  senses, 
what  would  be  the  use  of  overwhelming  her  with  all  these 
excuses  ?"  interposed  Mr.  Frankland.  "  It  will  be  more  to 
the  purpose  if  Mr.  Orridge  will  kindly  explain  and  apologize 
for  us  to  her  mistress." 

"  Go  !  Don't  stop  to  talk — pray  go  at  once !"  cried  Ros 
amond,  as  the  doctor  attempted  to  reply  to  Mr.  Frankland. 

"Don't  be  afraid  ;  no  time  shall  be  lost,"  said  Mr.  Orridge, 
opening  the  door.  "  But  remember,  Mrs.  Frankland,  I  shall 
expect  you  to  reward  your  embassador,  when  he  returns  from 
his  mission,  by  showing  him  that  you  are  a  little  more  quiet 
and  composed  than  I  find  you  this  morning."  With  that 
parting  hint,  the  doctor  took  his  leave. 

"'When  you  go  to  Porthgenna,  keep  out  of  the  Myrtle 
Room,' "  repeated  Mr. Frankland,  thoughtfully.  "Those  are 
very  strange  words,  Rosamond.  Who  can  this  woman  really 
be  ?  She  is  a  perfect  stranger  to  both  of  us ;  we  are  brought 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  135 

into  contact  with  her  by  the  merest  accident ;  and  we  find 
that  she  knows  something  about  our  own  house  of  which  we 
were  both  perfectly  ignorant  until  she  chose  to  speak  !" 

"  But  the  warning,  Lenny — the  warning,  so  pointedly  and 
mysteriously  addressed  to  me  ?  Oh,  if  I  could  only  go  to  sleep 
at  once,  and  not  wake  again  till  the  doctor  comes  back !" 

"  My  love,  try  not  to  count  too  certainly  on  our  being  en 
lightened,  even  then.  The  woman  may  refuse  to  explain  her 
self  to  any  body." 

"  Don't  even  hint  at  such  a  disappointment  as  that,  Lenny 
— or  I  shall  be  wanting  to  get  up,  and  go  and  question  her 
myself!" 

"  Even  if  you  could  get  up  and  question  her,  Rosamond, 
you  might  find  it  impossible  to  make  her  answer.  She  may 
be  afraid  of  certain  consequences  which  we  can  not  foresee ; 
and,  in  that  case,  I  can  only  repeat  that  it  is  more  than  prob 
able  she  will  explain  nothing — or,  perhaps,  still  more  likely 
that  she  will  coolly  deny  her  own  words  altogether." 

"  Then,  Lenny,  we  will  put  them  to  the  proof  for  ourselves." 

"And  how  can  we  do  that?" 

"  By  continuing  our  journey  to  Porthgenna  the  moment  I 
am  allowed  to  travel,  and  by  leaving  no  stone  unturned  when 
we  get  there  until  we  have  discovered  whether  there  is  or 
is  not  any  room  in  the  old  house  that  ever  was  known,  at  any 
time  of  its  existence,  by  the  name  of  the  Myrtle  Room." 

"And  suppose  it  should  turn  out  that  there  is  such  a 
room?"  asked  Mr.  Frankland,  beginning  to  feel  the  influence 
of  his  wife's  enthusiasm. 

"If  it  does  turn  out  so,"  said  Rosamond,  her  voice  rising, 
and  her  face  lighting  up  with  its  accustomed  vivacity,  "  how 
can  you  doubt  what  will  happen  next  ?  Am  I  not  a  woman  ? 
And  have  I  not  been  forbidden  to  enter  the  Myrtle  Roonr? 
Lenny  !  Lenny  !  Do  you  know  so  little  of  my  half  of  hu 
manity  as  to  doubt  what  I  should  do  the  moment  the  room 
was  discovered  ?  My  darling,  as  a  matter  of  course,  I  should 
walk  into  it  immediately." 


130  THE    DEAD    SECKET. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ANOTHER     SURPRISE. 

WITH  all  the  haste  he  could  make,  it  was  one  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  before  Mr.  Orridge's  professional  avocations  allowed 
him  to  set  forth  in  his  gig  for  Mrs.  Norbury's  house.  He 
drove  there  with  such  good-will  that  he  accomplished  the 
half-hour's  journey  in  twenty  minutes.  The  footman  having 
heard  the  rapid  approach  of  the  gig,  opened  the  hall  door  the 
instant  the  horse  was  pulled  up  before  it,  and  confronted  the 
doctor  with  a  smile  of  malicious  satisfaction. 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Orridge,  bustling  into  the  hall,  "  you 
were  all  rather  surprised  last  night  when  the  housekeeper 
came  back,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Yes,  Sir,  we  certainly  were  surprised  when  she  came  back 
last  night,"  answered  the  footman ;  "  but  we  were  still  more 
surprised  when  she  went  away  again  this  morning." 

"  Went  away  !     You  don't  mean  to  say  she  is  gone  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  do,  Sir — she  has  lost  her  place,  and  gone  for  good." 
The  footman  smiled  again,  as  he  made  that  reply ;  and  the 
housemaid,  who  happened  to  be  on  her  way  down  stairs 
while  he  was  speaking,  and  to  hear  what  he  said,  smiled  too. 
Mrs.  Jazeph  had  evidently  been  no  favorite  in  the  servants' 
hall. 

Amazement  prevented  Mr.  Orridge  from  uttering  another 
word.  Hearing  no  more  questions  asked,  the  footman  threw 
open  the  door  of  the  breakfast-parlor,  and  the  doctor  fol 
lowed  him  into  the  room.  Mrs.  Norbury  was  sitting  near  the 
window  in  a  rigidly  upright  attitude,  inflexibly  watching  the 
proceedings  of  her  invalid  child  over  a  basin  of  beef-tea. 

"  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  talk  about  before  you  open 
your  lips,"  said  the  outspoken  lady.  "  But  just  look  to  the 
child  first,  and  say  what  you  have  to  say  on  that  subject,  if 
you  please,  before  you  enter  on  any  other." 

The  child  was  examined,  was  pronounced  to  be  improving 
rapidly,  and  was  carried  away  by  the  nurse  to  lie  down  and 
rest  a  little.  As  soon  as  the  door  of  the  room  had  closed,  Mrs. 


THE   DEAD   SECRET.  137 

Norbury  abruptly  addressed  the  doctor,  interrupting  him,  for 
the  second  time,  just  as  he  was  about  to  speak. 

"  Now,  Mr.  Orridge,"  she  said,  "  I  want  to  tell  you  some 
thing  at  the  outset.  I  am  a  remarkably  just  woman,  and  I 
have  no  quarrel  with  you.  You  are  the  cause  of  my  having 
been  treated  with  the  most  audacious  insolence  by  three  peo 
ple — but  you  are  the  innocent  cause,  and,  therefore,  I  don't 
blame  you." 

"  I  am  really  at  a  loss,"  Mr.  Orridge  began — "  quite  at  a 
loss,  I  assure  you — " 

"  To  know  what  I  mean  ?"  said  Mrs.  Norbury.  "  I  will 
soon  tell  you.  Were  you  not  the  original  cause  of  my  send 
ing  my  housekeeper  to  nurse  Mrs.  Frankland  ?" 

"Yes."  Mr.  Orridge  could  not  hesitate  to  acknowledge 
that. 

"  Well,"  pursued  Mrs.  Norbury,  "  and  the  consequence  of 
my  sending  her  is,  as  I  said  before,  that  I  am  treated  with 
unparalleled  insolence  by  no  less  than  three  people.  Mrs. 
Frankland  takes  an  insolent  whim  into  her  head,  and  affects 
to  be  frightened  by  my  housekeeper.  Mr.  Frankland  shows 
an  insolent  readiness  to  humor  that  whim,  and  hands  me  back 
my  housekeeper  as  if  she  was  a  bad  shilling ;  and  last,  and 
worst  of  all,  ruy  housekeeper  herself  insults  me  to  my  face  as 
soon  as  she  comes  back — insults  me,  Mr.  Orridge,  to  that-  de 
gree  that  I  give  her  twelve  hours'  notice  to  leave  the  place. 
Don't  begin  to  defend  yourself!  I  know  all  about  it ;  I  know 
you  had  nothing  to  do  with  sending  her  back;  I  never  said 
you  had.  All  the  mischief  you  have  done  is  innocent  mis 
chief.  I  don't  blame  you,  remember  that — whatever  you  do, 
Mr.  Orridge,  remember  that !" 

"  I  had  no  idea  of  defending  myself,"  said  the  doctor, "  for 
I  have  no  reason  to  do  so.  But  you  surprise  me  beyond  all 
power  of  expression  when  you  tell  me  that  Mrs.  Jazeph  treat 
ed  you  with  incivility." 

"  Incivility  !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Norbury.  "  Don't  talk  about 
incivility — it's  not  the  word.  Impudence  is  the  word — bra 
zen  impudence.  The  only  charitable  thing  to  say  of  Mrs. 
Jazeph  is  that  she  is  not  right  in  her  head.  I  never  noticed 
any  thing  odd  about  her  myself;  but  the  servants  used  to 
laugh  at  her  for  being  as  timid  in  the  dark  as  a  child,  and  for 
often  running  away  to  her  candle  in  her  own  room  when 


138  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

they  declined  to  light  the  lamps  before  the  night  had  fairly 
set  in.  I  never  troubled  my  head  about  this  before ;  but  I 
thought  of  it  last  night,  I  can  tell  you,  when  I  found  her  look 
ing  me  fiercely  in  the  face,  and  contradicting  me  flatly  the 
moment  I  spoke  to  her." 

"  I  should  have  thought  she  was  the  very  last  woman  in 
the  world  to  misbehave  herself  in  that  way,"  answered  the 
doctor. 

"  Very  well.  Now  hear  what  happened  when  she  came 
back  last  night,"  said  Mrs.  Norbury.  "She  got  here  just  as 
we  were  going  up  stairs  to  bed.  Of  course,  I  was  astonished ; 
and,  of  course,  I  called  her  into  the  drawing-room  for  an  ex 
planation.  There  was  nothing  very  unnatural  in  that  course 
of  proceeding,  I  suppose  ?  Well,  I  noticed  that  her  eyes  were 
swollen  and  red,  and  that  her  looks  were  remarkably  wild 
and  queer;  but  I  said  nothing,  and  waited  for  the  explana 
tion.  All  that  she  had  to  tell  me  was  that  something  she 
had  unintentionally  said  or  done  had  frightened  Mrs.  Frank- 
land,  and  that  Mrs.  Frankland's  husband  had  sent  her  away 
on  the  spot.  I  disbelieved  this  at  first — and  very  naturally, 
I  think — but  she  persisted  in  the  story,  and  answered  all  my 
questions  by  declaring  that  she  could  tell  me  nothing  more. 
1  So  then,'  I  said, '  I  am  to  believe  that,  after  I  have  inconven 
ienced  myself  by  sparing  you,  and  after  you  have  inconven 
ienced  yourself  by  undertaking  the  business  of  nurse,  I  am  to 
be  insulted,  and  you  are  to  be  insulted,  by  your  being  sent 
away  from  Mrs.  Frankland  on  the  very  day  when  you  get  to 
her,  because  she  chooses  to  take  a  whim  into  her  head  ?'  '  I 
never  accused  Mrs.  Frankland  of  taking  a  whim  into  her 
head,'  said  Mrs.  Jazeph,  and  stares  me  straight  in  the  face, 
with  such  a  look  as  I  never  saw  in  her  eyes  before,  after  all 
my  five  years'  experience  of  her.  '  What  do  you  mean  ?'  I 
asked,  giving  her  back  her  look,  I  can  promise  you.  'Are 
you  base  enough  to  take  the  treatment  you  have  received  in 
the  light  of  a  favor  ?'  '  I  am  just  enough,'  said  Mrs.  Jazeph, 
as  sharp  as  lightning,  and  still  with  that  same  stare  straight  at 
me — *  I  am  just  enough  not  to  blame  Mrs.  Frankland.'  '  Oh, 
you  are,  are  you  ?'  I  said.  *  Then  all  I  can  tell  you  is,  that  I 
feel  this  insult,  if  you  don't ;  and  that  I  consider  Mrs.  Frank- 
land's  conduct  to  be  the  conduct  of  an  ill-bred,  impudent,  ca 
pricious,  unfeeling  woman.'  Mrs.  Jazeph  takes  a  step  up  to 


THE    DEAD   SECKET.  139 

me — takes  a  step,  I  give  you  my  word  of  honor — and  says  dis 
tinctly,  in  so  many  words,  *  Mrs.  Frankland  is  neither  ill-bred, 
impudent,  capricious,  nor  unfeeling.'  'Do  you  mean  to  con 
tradict  me,  Mrs.  Jazeph?'  I  asked.  'I  mean  to  defend  Mrs. 
Frankland  from  unjust  imputations,'  says  she.  Those  were 
her  words,  Mr.  Orridge — on  my  honor,  as  a  gentlewoman, 
those  were  exactly  her  words." 

The  doctor's  face  expressed  the  blankest  astonishment. 
Mrs.  Norbury  went  on — 

"I  was  in  a  towering  passion — I  don't  mind  confessing 
that,  Mr.  Orridge— but  I  kept  it  down.  '  Mrs.  Jazeph,'  I  said, 
4  this  is  language  that  I  am  not  accustomed  to,  and  that  I  cer 
tainly  never  expected  to  hear  from  your  lips.  Why  you 
should  take  it  on  yourself  to  defend  Mrs.  Frankland  for  treat 
ing  us  both  with  contempt,  and  to  contradict  me  for  resent 
ing  it,  I  neither  know  nor  care  to  know.  But  I  must  tell 
you,  in  plain  words,  that  I  will  be  spoken  to  by  every  person 
in  my  employment,  from  my  housekeeper  to  my  scullery- 
maid,  with  respect.  I  would  have  given  warning  on  the  spot 
to  any  other  servant  in  this  house  who  had  behaved  to  me 
as  you  have  behaved.'  She  tried  to  interrupt  me  there,  but 
I  would  not  allow  her.  '  No,'  I  said, '  you  are  not  to  speak 
to  me  just  yet ;  you  are  to  hear  me  out.  Any  other  servant, 
I  tell  you  again,  should  have  left  this  place  to-morrow  morn 
ing  ;  but  I  will  be  more  than  just  to  you.  I  will  give  you 
the  benefit  of  your  five  years'  good  conduct  in  my  service. 
I  will  leave  you  the  rest  of  the  night  to  get  cool,  and  to  re 
flect  on  what  has  passed  between  us ;  and  I  will  not  expect 
you  to  make  the  proper  apologies  to  me  until  the  morning.' 
You  see,  Mr.  Orridge,  I  was  determined  to  act  justly  and 
kindly ;  I  was  ready  to  make  allowances — and  what  do  you 
think  she  said  in  return?  'I  am  willing  to  make  any  apolo 
gies,  ma'am,  for  offending  you,'  she  said, '  without  the  delay 
of  a  single  minute  ;  but,  whether  it  is  to-night,  or  whether  it 
is  to-morrow  morning,  I  can  not  stand  by  silent  when  I  hear 
Mrs.  Frankland  charged  with  acting  unkindly,  uncivilly,  or 
improperly  toward  me  or  toward  any  one.'  *  Do  you  tell  me 
that  deliberately,  Mrs.  Jazeph  ?'  I  asked.  '  I  tell  it  you  sin 
cerely,  ma'am,'  she  answered ;  '  and  I  am  very  sorry  to  be 
obliged  to  do  so.'  '  Pray  don't  trouble  yourself  to  be  sorry,' 
I  said, '  for  you  may  consider  yourself  no  longer  in  my  serv- 

G 


140  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

ice.  I  will  order  the  steward  to  pay  you  the  usual  month's 
wages  instead  of  the  month's  warning  the  first  thing  to-mor 
row;  and  I  beg  that  you  will  leave  the  house  as  soon  as 
you  conveniently  can  afterward.'  '  I  will  leave  to-morrow, 
ma'am,'  says  she, '  but  without  troubling  the  steward.  I  beg 
respectfully,  and  with  many  thanks  for  your  past  kindness, 
to  decline  taking  a  month's  money  which  I  have  not  earned  by 
a  month's  service.'  And  thereupon  she  courtesies  and  goes 
out.  That  is,  word  for  word,  what  passed  between  us,  Mr. 
Orridge.  Explain  the  woman's  conduct  in  your  own  way, 
if  you  can.  I  say  that  it  is  utterly  incomprehensible,  unless 
you  agree  with  me  that  she  was  not  in  her  right  senses  when 
she  came  back  to  this  house  last  night." 

The  doctor  began  to  think,  after  what  he  had  just  heard, 
that  Mrs.  Frankland's  suspicions  in  relation  to  the  new  nurse 
were  not  quite  so  unfounded  as  he  had  been  at  first  disposed 
to  consider  them.  He  wisely  refrained,  however,  from  com 
plicating  matters  by  giving  utterance  to  what  he  thought; 
and,  after  answering  Mrs.  Norbury  in  a  few  vaguely  polite 
words,  endeavored  to  soothe  her  irritation  against  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Frankland  by  assuring  her  that  he  came  as  the  bearer 
of  apologies  from  both  husband  and  wife,  for  the  apparent 
want  of  courtesy  and  consideration  in  their  conduct  which 
circumstances  had  made  inevitable.  The  offended  lady,  how 
ever,  absolutely  refused  to  be  propitiated.  She  rose  up,  and 
waved  her  hand  with  an  air  of  great  dignity. 

"  I  can  not  hear  a  word  more  from  you,  Mr.  Orridge,"  she 
said;  "I  can  not  receive  any  apologies  which  are  made  indi 
rectly.  If  Mr.  Frankland  chooses  to  call,  and  if  Mrs.  Frank- 
land  condescends  to  write  to  me,  I  am  willing  to  think  no 
more  of  the  matter.  Under  any  other  circumstances,  I  must 
be  allowed  to  keep  my  present  opinions  both  of  the  lady  and 
the  gentleman.  Don't  say  another  word,  and  be  so  kind  as 
to  excuse  me  if  I  leave  you,  and  go  up  to  the  nursery  to  see 
how  the  child  is  getting  on.  I  am  delighted  to  hear  that  you 
think  her  so  much  better.  Pray  call  again  to-morrow  or 
next  day,  if  you  conveniently  can.  Good-morning  !" 

Half  amused  at  Mrs.  Norbury,  half  displeased  at  the  curt 
tone  she  adopted  toward  him,  Mr.  Orridge  remained  for  a 
minute  or  two  alone  in  the  breakfast-parlor,  feeling  rather 
undecided  about  what  he  should  do  next.  He  was,  by  this 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  141 

time,  almost  as  much  interested  in  solving  the  mystery  of 
Mrs.  Jazeph's  extraordinary  conduct  as  Mrs.  Frankland  her 
self;  and  he  felt  unwilling,  on  all  accounts,  to  go  back  to  the 
Tiger's  Head,  and  merely  repeat  what  Mrs.  Norbury  had  told 
him,  without  being  able  to  complete  the  narrative  by  inform 
ing  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frankland  of  the  direction  that  the  house 
keeper  had  taken  on  leaving  her  situation.  After  some  pon 
dering,  he  determined  to  question  the  footman,  under  the 
pretense  of  desiring  to  know  if  his  gig  was  at  the  door.  The 
man  having  answered  the  bell,  and  having  reported  the  gig 
to  be  ready,  Mr.  Orridge,  while  crossing  the  hall,  asked  him 
carelessly  if  he  knew  at  what  time  in  the  morning  Mrs.  Jazeph 
had  left  her  place. 

"  About  ten  o'clock,  Sir,"  answered  the  footman.  "  When 
the  carrier  came  by  from  the  village,  on  his  way  to  the  sta 
tion  for  the  eleven  o'clock  train." 

"  Oh  !  I  suppose  he  took  her  boxes?"  said  Mr. Orridge. 

"And  he  took  her,  too,  Sir,"  said  the  man,  with  a  grin. 
"  She  had  to  ride,  for  once  in  her  life,  at  any  rate,  in  a  car 
rier's  cart." 

On  getting  back  to  West  Winston,  the  doctor  stopped  at 
the  station  to  collect  further  particulars,  before  he  returned 
to  the  Tiger's  Head.  No  trains,  either  up  or  down,  happen 
ed  to  be  due  just  at  that  time.  The  station-master  was  read 
ing  the  newspaper,  and  the  porter  was  gardening  on  the 
slope  of  the  embankment. 

"Is  the  train  at  eleven  in  the  morning  an  up-train  or  a 
down-train  ?"  asked  Mr.  Orridge,  addressing  the  porter. 

"  A  down-train." 

"Did  many  people  go  by  it?" 

The  porter  repeated  the  names  of  some  of  the  inhabitants 
of  West  Winston. 

"  Were  there  no  passengers  but  passengers  from  the  town  ?" 
inquired  the  doctor. 

"Yes,  Sir.     I  think  there  was  one  stranger — a  lady." 

"  Did  the  station-master  issue  the  tickets  for  that  train  ?" 

"  Yes,  Sir." 

Mr.  Orridge  went  on  to  the  station-master. 

"Do  you  remember  giving  a  ticket  this  morning,  by  the 
eleven  o'clock  down-train,  to  a  lady  traveling  alone  ?" 

The  station-master  pondered.     "  I  have  issued  tickets,  up 


142  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

and  down,  to  half-a-dozen  ladies  to-day,"  he  answered,  doubt 
fully. 

"  Yes,  but  I  am  speaking  only  of  the  eleven  o'clock  train," 
said  Mr.  Orridge.  "  Try  if  you  can't  remember  ?" 

"  Remember  ?  Stop  !  I  do  remember ;  I  know  who  you 
mean.  A  lady  who  seemed  rather  flurried,  and  who  put  a 
question  to  me  that  I  am  not  often  asked  at  this  station.  She 
had  her  veil  down,  I  recollect,  and  she  got  here  for  the  eleven 
o'clock  train.  Crouch,  the  carrier,  brought  her  trunk  into  the 
office." 

"  That  is  the  woman.    Where  did  she  take  her  ticket  for  ?" 

"  For  Exeter." 

"  You  said  she  asked  you  a  question  ?" 

"  Yes :  a  question  about  what  coaches  met  the  rail  at  Ex 
eter  to  take  travelers  into  Cornwall.  I  told  her  we  were 
rather  too  far  off  here  to  have  the  correct  time-table,  and  rec 
ommended  her  to  apply  for  information  to  the  Devonshire 
people  when  she  got  to  the  end  of  her  journey.  "  She  seemed 
a  timid,  helpless  kind  of  woman  to  travel  alone.  Any  thing 
wrong  in  connection  with  her,  Sir?" 

"  Oh,  no !  nothing,"  said  Mr.  Orridge,  leaving  the  station- 
master  and  hastening  back  to  his  gig  again. 

When  he  drew  up,  a  few  minutes  afterward,  at  the  door  of 
the  Tiger's  Head,  he  jumped  out  of  his  vehicle  with  the  con 
fident  air  of  a  man  who  has  done  all  that  could  be  expected' 
of  him.  It  was  easy  to  face  Mrs.  Frankland  with  the  unsatis 
factory  news  of  Mrs.  Jazeph's  departure,  now  that  he  could 
add,  on  the  best  authority,  the  important  supplementary  in 
formation  that  she  had  gone  to  Cornwall. 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  143 


BOOK  IV. 

CHAPTER  I. 

A    PLOT   AGAINST   THE    SECRET. 

TOWARD  the  close  of  the  evening,  on  the  day  after  Mr.  Or- 
ridge's  interview  with  Mrs.  Norbury,  the  Druid  fast  coach, 
running  through  Cornwall  as  far  as  Truro,  set  down  three  in 
side  passengers  at  the  door  of  the  booking-office  on  arriving 
at  its  destination.  Two  of  these  passengers  were  an  old  gen 
tleman  and  his  daughter ;  the  third  was  Mrs.  Jazeph. 

The  father  and  daughter  collected  their  luggage  and  en 
tered  the  hotel ;  the  outside  passengers  branched  off  in  differ 
ent  directions  with  as  little  delay  as  possible ;  Mrs.  Jazeph 
alone  stood  irresolute  on  the  pavement,  and  seemed  uncertain 
what  she  should  do  next.  When  the  coachman  good-nat 
uredly  endeavored  to  assist  her  in  arriving  at  a  decision  of 
some  kind,  by  asking  whether  he  could  do  any  thing  to  help 
her,  she  started,  and  looked  at  him  suspiciously;  then,  appear 
ing  to  recollect  herself,  thanked  him  for  his  kindness,  and  in 
quired,  with  a  confusion  of  words  and  a  hesitation  of  manner 
which  appeared  very  extraordinary  in  the  coachman's  eyes, 
whether  she  might  be  allowed  to  leave  her  trunk  at  the  book 
ing-office  for  a  little  while,  until  she  could  return  and  call  for 
it  again. 

Receiving  permission  to  leave  her  trunk  as  long  as  she 
pleased,  she  crossed  over  the  principal  street  of  the  town,  as 
cended  the  pavement  on  the  opposite  side,  and  walked  down 
the  first  turning  she  came  to.  On  entering  the  by-street  to 
which  the  turning  led,  she  glanced  back,  satisfied  herself  that 
nobody  was  following  or  watching  her,  hastened  on  a  few 
yards,  and  stopped  again  at  a  small  shop  devoted  to  the  sale 
of  book-cases,  cabinets,  work-boxes,  and  writing-desks.  After 
first  looking  up  at  the  letters  painted  over-  the  door — BUSCH- 
MANX,  CABINET-MAKER,  &c. — she  peered  in  at  the  shop  win 
dow.  A  middle-aged  man,  with  a  cheerful  face,  sat  behind 
the  counter,  polishing  a  rosewood  bracket,  and  nodding  brisk- 


144  THE    DEAD    SECEET. 

ly  at  regular  intervals,  as  if  he  were  humming  a  tune  and 
keeping  time  to  it  with  his  head.  Seeing  no  customers  in  the 
shop,  Mrs.  Jazeph  opened  the  door  and  walked  in. 

As  soon  as  she  was  inside,  she  became  aware  that  the  cheer 
ful  man  behind  the  counter  was  keeping  time,  not  to  a  tune 
of  his  own  humming,  but  to  a  tune  played  by  a  musical  box. 
The  clear  ringing  notes  came  from  a  parlor  behind  the  shop, 
and  the  air  the  box  was  playing  was  the  lovely  "Batti, 
Batti,"  of  Mozart. 

"  Is  Mr.  Buschmann  at  home  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Jazeph. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  the  cheerful  man,  pointing  with  a  smile 
toward  the  door  that  led  into  the  parlor.  "The  music  an 
swers  for  him.  Whenever  Mr.  Buschmann's  box  is  playing, 
Mr.  Buschmann  himself  is  not  far  off  from  it.  Did  you  wish 
to  see  him,  ma'am  ?" 

"  If  there  is  nobody  with  him." 

"  Oh,  no,  he  is  quite  alone.     Shall  I  give  any  name  ?" 

Mrs.  Jazeph  opened  her  lips  to  answer,  hesitated,  and  said 
nothing.  The  shopman,  with  a  quicker  delicacy  of  perception 
than  might  have  been  expected  from  him,  judging  by  out 
ward  appearances,  did  not  repeat  the  question,  but  opened 
the  door  at  once,  and  admitted  the  visitor  to  the  presence  of 
Mr.  Buschmann. 

The  shop  parlor  was  a  very  small  room,  with  an  old  three- 
cornered  look  about  it,  with  a  bright  green  paper  on  the 
walls,  with  a  large  dried  fish  in  a  glass  case  over  the  fire 
place,  with  two  meerschaum  pipes  hanging  together  on  the 
wall  opposite,  and  a  neat  round  table  placed  as  accurately  as 
possible  in  the  middle  of  the  floor.  On  the  table  were  tea- 
things,  bread,  butter,  a  pot  of  jam,  and  a  musical  box  in  a 
quaint,  old-fashioned  case;  and  by  the  side  of  the  table  sat  a 
little,  rosy-faced,  white-haired,  simple-looking  old  man,  who 
started  up,  when  the  door  was  opened,  with  an  appearance 
of  extreme  confusion,  and  touched  the  top  of  the  musical  box 
so  that  it  might  cease  playing  when  it  came  to  the  end  of  the 
air. 

"  A  lady  to  speak  with  you,  Sir,"  said  the  cheerful  shopman. 
"That  is  Mr.  Buschmann,  ma'am,"  he  added  in  a  lower  tone, 
seeing  Mrs.  Jazeph  stop  in  apparent  uncertainty  on  entering 
the  parlor. 

"  Will  you  please  to  take  a  seat,  ma'am  ?"  said  Mr.  Busch- 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  145 

mann,  when  the  shopman  had  closed  the  door  and  gone  back 
to  his  counter.  "  Excuse  the  music ;  it  will  stop  directly." 
He  spoke  these  words  in  a  foreign  accent,  but  with  perfect 
fluency. 

Mrs.  Jazeph  looked  at  him  earnestly  while  he  was  address 
ing  her,  and  advanced  a  step  or  two  before  she  said  any 
tiling.  "Am  I  so  changed?"  she  asked  softly.  "So  sadly, 
sadly  changed,  Uncle  Joseph?" 

"  Gott  im  Himmel !  it's  her  voice — it's  Sarah  Leeson !" 
cried  the  old  man,  running  up  to  his  visitor  as  nimbly  as  if 
he  was  a  boy  again,  taking  both  her  hands,  and  kissing  her 
with  an  odd,  brisk  tenderness  on  the  cheek.  Although  his 
niece  was  not  at  all  above  the  average  height  of  women, 
Uncle  Joseph  was  so  short  that  he  had  to  raise  himself  on 
tiptoe  to  perform  the  ceremony  of  embracing  her. 

"  To  think  of  Sarah  coming  at  last !"  he  said,  pressing  her 
into  a  chair.  "  After  all  these  years  and  years,  to  think  of 
Sarah  Leeson  coming  to  see  Uncle  Joseph  again  !" 

"  Sarah  still,  but  not  Sarah  Leeson,"  said  Mrs.  Jazeph,  press 
ing  her  thin,  trembling  hands  firmly  together,  and  looking 
down  on  the  floor  while  she  spoke. 

"  Ah  !  married  ?"  said  Mr.  Btischmann,  gayly.  "Married, 
of  course.  Tell  me  all  about  your  husband,  Sarah." 

"  He  is  dead.  Dead  and  forgiven."  She  murmured  the 
last  three  words  in  a  whisper  to  herself. 

"  Ah !  I  am  so  sorry  for  you  !  I  spoke  too  suddenly,  did 
I  not,  my  child  ?"  said  the  old  man.  "  Never  mind  !  No, 
no;  I  don't  mean  that — I  mean  let  us  talk  of  something  else. 
You  will  have  a  bit  of  bread  and  jam,  won't  you,  Sarah  ? — 
ravishing  raspberry  jam  that  melts  in  your  mouth.  Some 
tea,  then  ?  So,  so,  she  will  have  some  tea,  to  be  sure.  And 
we  won't  talk  of  our  troubles — at  least,  not  just  yet.  You 
look  very  pale,  Sarah — very  much  older  than  you  ought  to 
look — no,  I  don't  mean  that  either;  I  don't  mean  to  be  rude. 
It  was  your  voice  I  knew  you  by,  my  child — your  voice  that 
your  poor  Uncle  Max  always  said  would  have  made  your  for 
tune  if  you  would  only  have  learned  to  sing.  Here's  his 
pretty  music  box  going  still.  Don't  look  so  downhearted — 
don't,  pray.  Do  listen  a  little  to  the  music  :  you  remember 
the  box? — my  brother  Max's  box?  Why,  how  you  look! 
Have  you  forgotten  the  box  that  the  divine  Mozart  gave  to 


146  THE    DEAD   SECKET. 

my  brother  with  his  own  hand,  when  Max  was  a  boy  in  the 
music  school  at  Vienna?  Listen  !  I  have  set  it  going  again. 
It's  a  song  they  call  '  Batti,  Batti ;'  it's  a  song  in  an  opera  of 
Mozart's.  Ah  !  beautiful !  beautiful !  Your  Uncle  Max  said 
that  all  music  was  comprehended  in  that  one  song.  I  know 
nothing  about  music,  but  I  have  my  heart  and  my  ears,  and 
they  tell  me  that  Max  was  right." 

Speaking  these  words  with  abundant  gesticulation  and 
amazing  volubility,  Mr.  Buschmann  poured  out  a  cup  of  tea 
for  his  niece,  stirred  it  carefully,  and,  patting  her  on  the 
shoulder,  begged  that  she  would  make  him  happy  by  drink 
ing  it  all  up  directly.  As  he  came  close  to  her  to  press  this 
request,  he  discovered  that  the  tears  were  in  her  eyes,  and 
that  she  was  trying  to  take  her  handkerchief  from  her  pock 
et  without  being  observed. 

"  Don't  mind  me,"  she  said,  seeing  the  old  man's  face  sad 
den  as  he  looked  at  her;  "and  don't  think  me  forgetful  or 
ungrateful,  Uncle  Joseph.  I  remember  the  box — I  remem 
ber  every  thing  that  you  used  to  take  an  interest  in,  when  I 
was  younger  and  happier  than  I  am  now.  When  I  last  saw 
you,  I  came  to  you  in  trouble  ;  and  I  come  to  you  in  trouble 
once  more.  It  seems  neglectful  in  me  never  to  have  written 
to  you  for  so  many  years  past ;  but  my  life  has  been  a  very 
sad  one,  and  I  thought  I  had  no  right  to  lay  the  burden  of 
my  sorrow  on  other  shoulders  than  my  own." 

Uncle  Joseph  shook  his  head  at  these  last  words,  and 
touched  the  stop  of  the  musical  box.  "  Mozart  shall  wait  a 
little,"  he  said,  gravely,  "till  I  have  told  you  something. 
Sarah,  hear  what  I  say,  and  drink  your  tea,  and  own  to  me 
whether  I  speak  the  truth  or  not.  What  did  I,  Joseph 
Buschmann,  tell  you,  when  you  first  came  to  me  in  trouble, 
fourteen,  fifteen,  ah  more !  sixteen  years  ago,  in  this  town, 
and  in  this  same  house  ?  I  said  then,  what  I  say  again  now : 
'  Sarah's  sorrow  is  my  sorrow,  and  Sarah's  joy  is  my  joy ;'  and 
if  any  man  asks  me  reasons  for  that,  I  have  three  to  give 
him." 

He  stopped  to  stir  up  his  niece's  tea  for  the  second  time, 
and  to  draw  her  attention  to  it  by  tapping  with  the  spoon 
on  the  edge  of  the  cup. 

"  Three  reasons,"  he  resumed.  "  First,  you  are  my  sistet's 
child — some  of  her  flesh  and  blood,  and  some  of  mine,  there- 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  147 

fore,  also.  Second,  my  sister,  my  brother,  and  lastly  me  my 
self,  we  owe  to  your  good  English  father — all.  A  little  word 
that  means  much,  and  may  be  said  again  and  again  —  all. 
Your  father's  friends  cry,  Fie !  Agatha  Buschmann  is  poor ! 
Agatha  Buschmann  is  foreign !  But  your  father  loves  the 
poor  German  girl,  and  he  marries  her  in  spite  of  their  Fie, 
Fie.  Your  father's  friends  cry  Fie !  again ;  Agatha  Busch 
mann  has  a  musician  brother,  who  gabbles  to  us  about  Mo 
zart,  and  who  can  not  make  to  his  porridge  salt.  Your  fa 
ther  says,  Good  !  I  like  his  gabble ;  I  like  his  playing ;  I 
shall  get  him  people  to  teach ;  and  while  I  have  pinches  of 
salt  in  my  kitchen,  he  to  his  porridge  shall  have  pinches  of 
salt  too.  Your  fathers  friends  cry  Fie !  for  the  third  time. 
Agatha  Buschmann  has  another  brother,  a  little  Stupid- 
Head,  who  to  the  other's  gabble  can  only  listen  and  say 
Amen.  Send  him  trotting;  for  the  love  of  Heaven,  shut  up 
all  the  doors  and  send  Stupid-Head  trotting,  at  least.  Your 
father  says,  No !  Stupid-Head  has  his  wits  in  his  hands;  he 
can  cut  and  carve  and  polish ;  help  him  a  little  at  the  start 
ing,  and  after  he  shall  help  himself.  They  are  all  gone  now 
but  me  !  Your  father,  your  mother,  and  Uncle  Max — they 
are  all  gone.  Stupid-Head  alone  remains  to  remember  and 
to  be  grateful — to  take  Sarah's  sorrow  for  his  sorrow,  and 
Sarah's  joy  for  his  joy." 

He  stopped  again  to  blow  a  speck  of  dust  off  the  musical 
box.  His  niece  endeavored  to  speak,  but  he  held  up  his 
hand,  and  shook  his  forefinger  at  her  warningly. 

"  No,"  he  said.  "  It  is  yet  my  business  to  talk,  and  your 
business  to  drink  tea.  Have  I  not  my  third  reason  still  ? 
Ah  !  you  look  away  from  me ;  you  know  my  third  reason 
before  I  say  a  word.  When  I,  in  my  turn,  marry,  and  my 
wife  dies,  and  leaves  me  alone  with  little  Joseph,  and  when 
the  boy  falls  sick,  who  comes  then,  so  quiet,  so  pretty,  so 
neat,  with  the  bright  young  eyes,  and  the  hands  so  tender 
and  light?  Who  helps  me  with  little  Joseph  by  night  and 
by  day  ?  Who  makes  a  pillow  for  him  on  her  arm  when  his 
head  is  wreary?  Who  holds  this  box  patiently  at  his  ear? 
— yes  !  this  box,  that  the  hand  of  Mozart  has  touched — who 
holds  it  closer,  closer  always,  when  little  Joseph's  sense  grows 
dull,  and  he  moans  for  the  friendly  music  that  he  has  known 
from  a  baby,  the  friendly  music  that  he  can  now  so  hardly, 

G2 


148  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

hardly  hear?  Who  kneels  down  by  Uncle  Joseph  when  his 
heart  is  breaking,  and  says,  '  Oh,  hush  !  hush  !  The  boy  is 
gone  where  the  better  music  plays,  where  the  sickness  shall 
never  waste  or  the  sorrow  touch  him  more?'  Who?  Ah, 
Sarah !  you  can  not  forget  those  days ;  you  can  not  forget 
the  Long  Ago  !  When  the  trouble  is  bitter,  and  the  burden 
is  heavy,  it  is  cruelty  to  Uncle  Joseph  to  keep  away ;  it  is 
kindness  to  him  to  come  here." 

The  recollections  that  the  old  man  had  called  up  found 
their  way  tenderly  to  Sarah's  heart.  She  could  not  answer 
him;  she  could  only  hold  out  her  hand.  Uncle  Joseph  bent 
down,  with  a  quaint,  affectionate  gallantry,  and  kissed  it ; 
then  stepped  back  again  to  his  place  by  the  musical  box. 
"  Come  !"  he  said,  patting  it  cheerfully,  "  we  will  say  no  more 
for  a  while.  Mozart's  box,  Max's  box,  little  Joseph's  box, 
you  shall  talk  to  us  again  !" 

Having  put  the  tiny  machinery  in  motion,  he  sat  down  by 
the  table,  and  remained  silent  until  the  air  had  been  played 
over  twice.  Then  observing  that  his  niece  seemed  calmer, 
lie  spoke  to  her  once  more. 

"You  are  in  trouble,  Sarah,"  he  said,  quietly.  "You  tell 
me  that,  and  I  see  it  is  true  in  your  face.  Are  you  grieving 
for  your  husband  ?" 

"  I  grieve  that  I  ever  met  him,"  she  answered.  "  I  grieve 
that  I  ever  married  him.  Now  that  he  is  dead,  I  can  not 
grieve — I  can  only  forgive  him." 

"  Forgive  him  ?  How  you  look,  Sarah,  when  you  say  that ! 
Tell  me—" 

"Uncle  Joseph!  I  have  told  you  that  my  husband  is 
dead,  and  that  I  have  forgiven  him." 

"You  have  forgiven  him?  He  was  hard  and  cruel  with 
you,  then  ?  I  see ;  I  see.  That  is  the  end,  Sarah — but  the 
beginning  ?  Is  the  beginning  that  you  loved  him  ?" 

Her  pale  cheeks  flushed ;  and  she  turned  her  head  aside. 
"  It  is  hard  and  humbling  to  confess  it,"  she  murmured,  with 
out  raising  her  eyes ;  "  but  you  force  the  truth  from  me,  un 
cle.  I  had  no  love  to  give  to  my  husband — no  love  to  give 
to  any  man." 

"And  yet  you  married  him!  Wait!  it  is  not  for  me  to 
blame.  It  is  for  me  to  find  out,  not  the  bad,  but  the  good. 
Yes,  yes ;  I  shall  say  to  myself,  she  married  him  when  she 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  149 

was  poor  and  helpless;  she  married  him  when  she  should 
have  come  to  Uncle  Joseph  instead.  I  shall  say  that  to  my 
self,  and  I  shall  pity,  but  I  shall  ask  no  more." 

Sarah  half  reached  her  hand  out  to  the  old  man  again — 
then  suddenly  pushed  her  chair  back,  and  changed  the  posi 
tion  in  which  she  was  sitting.  "  It  is  true  that  I  was  poor," 
she  said,  looking  about  her  in  confusion,  and  speaking  with 
difficulty.  "  But  you  are  so  kind  and  so  good,  I  can  not  ac 
cept  the  excuse  that  your  forbearance  makes  for  me.  I  did 
not  marry  him  because  I  was  poor,  but —  She  stopped, 
clasped  her  hands  together,  and  pushed  her  chair  back  still 
farther  from  the  table. 

"  So  !  so  !"  said  the  old  man,  noticing  her  confusion.  "  We 
will  talk  about  it  no  more." 

"  I  had  no  excuse  of  love ;  I  had  no  excuse  of  poverty," 
she  said,  with  a  sudden  burst  of  bitterness  and  despair. 
u  Uncle  Joseph,  I  married  him  because  I  was  too  weak  to 
persist  in  saying  No !  The  curse  of  weakness  and  fear  has 
followed  me  all  the  days  of  my  life  !  I  said  No  to  him  once. 
I  said  No  to  him  twice.  Oh,  uncle,  if  I  could  only  have  said 
it  for  the  third  time !  But  he  followed  me,  he  frightened 
me,  he  took  away  from  me  all  the  little  will  of  my  own  that 
I  had.  He  made  me  speak  as  he  wished  me  to  speak,  and 
go  where  he  wished  me  to  go.  No,  no,  no — don't  come  to 
me,  uncle ;  don't  say  any  thing.  He  is  gone ;  he  is  dead — 
I  have  got  my  release ;  I  have  given  my  pardon  !  Oh,  if  I 
could  only  go  away  and  hide  somewhere  !  All  people's  eyes 
seem  to  look  through  me ;  all  people's  words  seem  to  threat 
en  me.  My  heart  has  been  weary  ever  since  I  was  a  young 
woman ;  and  all  these  long,  long  years  it  has  never  got  any 
rest.  Hush !  the  man  in  the  shop — I  forgot  the  man  in  the 
shop.  He  will  hear  us;  let  us  talk  in  a  whisper.  What 
made  me  break  out  so  ?  I'm  always  wrong.  Oh  me !  I'm 
wrong  when  I  speak ;  I'm  wrong  when  I  say  nothing ;  wher 
ever  I  go  and  whatever  I  do,  I'm  not  like  other  people.  I 
seem  never  to  have  grown  up  in  my  mind  since  I  was  a 
little  child.  Hark !  the  man  in  the  shop  is  moving  —  has 
he  heard  me?  Oh,  Uncle  Joseph!  do  you  think  he  has 
heard  me  ?" 

Looking  hardly  less  startled  than  his  niece,  Uncle  Joseph 
assured  her  that  the  door  was  solid,  that  the  man's  place  in 


150  THE    DEAD    SECKET. 

the  shop  was  at  some  distance  from  it,  and  that  it  was  im 
possible,  even-  if  he  heard  voices  in  the  parlor,  that  he  could 
also  distinguish  any  words  that  were  spoken  in  it. 

"  You  are  sure  of  that  ?"  she  whispered,  hurriedly.  "  Yes, 
yes,  you  are  sure  of  that,  or  you  would  not  have  told  me  so, 
would  you  ?  We  may  go  on  talking  now.  Not  about  my 
married  life :  that  is  buried  and  past.  Say  that  I  had  some 
years  of  sorrow  and  suffering,  which  I  deserved — say  that  I 
had  other  years  of  quiet,  when  I  was  living  in  service  with 
masters  and  mistresses  who  were  often  kind  to  me  when  my 
fellow-servants  were  not — say  just  that  much  about  my  life, 
and  it  is  saying  enough.  The  trouble  that  I  am  in  now,  the 
trouble  that  brings  me  to  you,  goes  back  further  than  the 
years  we  have  been  talking  about  —  goes  back,  back,  back, 
Uncle  Joseph,  to  the  distant  day  when  we  last  met." 

"  Goes  back  all  through  the  sixteen  years !"  exclaimed  the 
old  man,  incredulously.  "  Goes  back,  Sarah,  even  to  the  Long 
Ago !" 

"  Even  to  that  time.  Uncle,  you  remember  where  I  was 
living,  and  what  had  happened  to  me,  when — " 

"  When  you  came  here  in  secret  ?  When  you  asked  me  to 
hide  you  ?  That  was  the  same  week,  Sarah,  when  your  mis 
tress  died;  your  mistress  who  lived  away  west  in  the  old 
house.  You  were  frightened,  then — pale  and  frightened  as 
I  see  you  now." 

"  As  every  one  sees  me  !  People  are  always  staring  at 
me ;  always  thinking  that  I  am  nervous,  always  pitying  me 
for  being  ill." 

Saying  these  words  with  a  sudden  fretfulness,  she  lifted 
the  tea-cup  by  her  side  to  her  lips,  drained  it  of  its  contents 
at  a  draught,  and  pushed  it  across  the  table  to  be  filled  again. 
"  I  have  come  all  over  thirsty  and  hot,"  she  whispered. 
"  More  tea,  Uncle  Joseph — more  tea." 

"  It  is  cold,"  said  the  old  man.  "  Wait  till  I  ask  for  hot 
water." 

"No!"  she  exclaimed,  stopping  him  as  he  was  about  to 
rise.  "  Give  it  me  cold;  I  like  it  cold.  Let  nobody  else  come 
in — I  can't  speak  if  any  body  else  comes  in."  She  drew  her 
chair  close  to  her  uncle's,  and  went  on :  "  You  have  not  for 
gotten  how  frightened  I  was  in  that  by-gone  time — do  you 
remember  why  I  was  frightened  ?" 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  151 

"  You  were  afraid  of  being  followed — that  was  it,  Sarah. 
I  grow  old,  but  ray  memory  keeps  young.  You  were  afraid 
of  your  master,  afraid  of  his  sending  servants  after  you.  You 
had  run  away ;  you  had  spoken  no  word  to  any  body ;  and 
you  spoke  little — ah,  very, very  little — even  to  Uncle  Joseph 
— even  to  me." 

"  I  told  you,"  said  Sarah,  dropping  her  voice  to  so  faint 
a  whisper  that  the  old  man  could  barely  hear  her — "I  told 
you  that  my  mistress  had  left  me  a  Secret  on  her  death-bed 
— a  Secret  in  a  letter,  which  I  was  to  give  to  my  master.  I 
told  you  I  had  hidden  the  letter,  because  I  could  not  bring 
myself  to  deliver  it,  because  I  would  rather  die  a  thousand 
times  over  than  be  questioned  about  what  I  knew  of  it.  I 
told  you  so  much,  I  know.  Did  I  tell  you  no  more?  Did  I 
not  say  that  my  mistress  made  me  take  an  oath  on  the  Bi 
ble? — Uncle!  are  there  candles  in  the  room?  Are  there 
candles  we  can  light  without  disturbing  any  body,  without 
calling  any  body  in  here  ?" 

"There  are  candles  and  a  match-box  in  my  cupboard," 
answered  Uncle  Joseph.  "  But  look  out  of  window,  Sarah. 
It  is  only  twilight — it  is  not  dark  yet." 

"  Not  outside  ;  but  it  is  dark  here." 

"  Where  ?" 

"  In  that  corner.  Let  us  have  candles.  I  don't  like  the 
darkness  when  it  gathers  in  corners  and  creeps  along 
walls." 

Uncle  Joseph  looked  all  round  the  room  inquiringly;  and 
smiled  to  himself  as  he  took  two  candles  from  the  cupboard 
and  lighted  them.  "You  are  like  the  children,"  he  said, 
playfully,  while  he  pulled  down  the  window-blind.  "You 
are  afraid  of  the  dark." 

Sarah  did  not  appear  to  hear  him.  Her  eyes  were  fixed 
on  the  corner  of  the  room  which  she  had  pointed  out  the  mo 
ment  before.  When  he  resumed  his  place  by  her  side,  she 
never  looked  round,  but  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and  said 
to  him  suddenly— 

"  Uncle  !  Do  you  believe  that  the  dead  can  come  back  to 
this  world,  and  follow  the  living  every  where,  and  see  what 
they  do  in  it  ?" 

The  old  man  started.  "Sarah!"  he  said,  "why  do  you  talk 
so?  Why  do  you  ask  me  such  a  question?" 


152  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

"  Are  there  lonely  hours,"  she  went  on,  still  never  looking 
away  from  the  corner,  still  not  seeming  to  hear  him,  "  when 
you  are  sometimes  frightened  without  knowing  why — fright 
ened  all  over  in  an  instant,  from  head  to  foot  ?  Tell  me,  un 
cle,  have  you  ever  felt  the  cold  steal  round  and  round  the 
roots  of  your  hair,  and  crawl  bit  by  bit  down  your  back  ?  I 
have  felt  that  even  in  the  summer.  I  have  been  out  of  doors, 
alone  on  a  wide  heath,  in  the  heat  and  brightness  of  noon, 
and  have  felt  as  if  chilly  fingers  were  touching  me — chilly, 
damp,  softly  creeping  fingers.  It  says  in  the  New  Testa 
ment  that  the  dead  came  once  out  of  their  graves,  and  went 
into  the  holy  city.  The  dead  !  Have  they  rested,  rested  al 
ways,  rested  forever,  since  that  time  ?" 

Uncle  Joseph's  simple  nature  recoiled  in  bewilderment 
from  the  dark  and  daring  speculations  to  which  his  niece's 
questions  led.  Without  saying  a  word,  he  tried  to  draw 
away  the  arm  which  she  still  held ;  but  the  only  result  of 
the  effort  was  to  make  her  tighten  her  grasp,  and  bend  for- 
ward  in  her  chair  so  as  to  look  closer  still  into  the  corner  of 
the  room. 

"My  mistress  was  dying,"  she  said — "my  mistress  was 
very  near  her  grave,  when  she  made  me  take  my  oath  on  the 
Bible.  She  made  me  swear  never  to  destroy  the  letter;  and 
I  did  not  destroy  it.  She  made  me  swear  not  to  take  it  away 
with  me,  if  I  left  the  house;  and  I  did  not  take  it  away.  She 
would  have  made  me  swear,  for  the  third  time,  to  give  it  to 
my  master,  but  death  was  too  quick  for  her — death  stopped 
her  from  fastening  that  third  oath  on  my  conscience.  But 
she  threatened  me,  uncle,  with  the  dead  dampness  on  her 
forehead,  and  the  dead  whiteness  on  her  cheeks — she  threat 
ened  to  come  to  me  from  the  other  world  if  I  thwarted  her 
— and  I  have  thwarted  her  !" 

She  stopped,  suddenly  removed  her  hand  from  the  old 
man's  arm,  and  made  a  strange  gesture  with  it  toward  the 
part  of  the  room  on  which  her  eyes  remained  fixed.  "Rest, 
mistress,  rest,"  she  whispered  under  her  breath.  "  Is  my 
master  alive  now?  Rest,  till  the  drowned  rise.  Tell  him 
the  Secret  when  the  sea  gives  up  her  dead." 

"Sarah!  Sarah  !  you  are  changed — you  are  ill — you  fright 
en  me  !"  cried  Uncle  Joseph,  starting  to  his  feet. 

She  turned  round  slowly,  and  looked  at  him  with  eyes  void 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  153 

of  all  expression,  with  eyes  that  seemed  to  be  staring  through 
him  vacantly  at  something  beyond. 

"Gott  im  Himmel!  what  does  she  see?"  He  looked  round 
as  the  exclamation  escaped  him.  "  Sarah  !  what  is  it !  Are 
you  faint  ?  Are  you  ill  ?  Are  you  dreaming  with  your  eyes 
open  ?" 

He  took  her  by  both  arms  and  shook  her.  At  the  instant 
when  she  felt  the  touch  of  his  hands,  she  started  violently 
and  trembled  all  over.  Their  natural  expression  flew  back 
into  her  eyes  with  the  rapidity  of  a  flash  of  light.  Without 
saying  a  word,  she  hastily  resumed  her  seat  and  began  stir 
ring  the  cold  tea  round  and  round  in  her  cup, round  and  round 
so  fast  that  the  liquid  overflowed  into  the  saucer. 

"  Come  !  she  gets  more  like  herself,"  said  Uncle  Joseph, 
watching  her. 

"  More  like  myself?"  she  repeated,  vacantly. 

"  So  !  so  !"  said  the  old  man,  trying  to  soothe  her.  "  You 
are  ill — what  the  English  call  out  of  sort.  They  are  good 
doctors  here.  Wait  till  to-morrow,  you  shall  have  the  best." 

"  I  want  no  doctors.  Don't  speak  of  doctors.  I  can't  bear 
them ;  they  look  at  me  with  such  curious  eyes ;  they  are  al 
ways  prying  into  me,  as  if  they  wanted  to  find  out  something. 
What  have  we  been  stopping  for?  I  had  so  much  to  say; 
and  we  seem  to  have  been  stopping  just  when  we  ought  to 
have  been  going  on.  I  am  in  grief  and  terror,  Uncle  Joseph ; 
in  grief  and  terror  again  about  the  Secret — " 

"  No  more  of  that !"  pleaded  the  old  man.  "  No  more 
to-night  at  least !" 

"  Why  not  ?" 

"  Because  you  will  be  ill  again  with  talking  about  it.  You 
will  be  looking  into  that  corner,  and  dreaming  with  your  eyes 
open.  You  are  too  ill — yes,  yes,  Sarah ;  you  are  too  ill." 

"  I'm  not  ill !  Oh,  why  does  every  body  keep  telling  me 
that  I  am  ill?  Let  me  talk  about  it,  uncle.  I  have  come  to 
talk  about  it ;  I  can't  rest  till  I  have  told  you." 

She  spoke  with  a  changing  color  and  an  embarrassed  man 
ner,  now  apparently  conscious  for  the  first  time  that  she  had 
allowed  words  and  actions  to  escape  her  which  it  would  have 
been  more  prudent  to  have  restrained. 

"  Don't  notice  me  again,"  she  said,  with  her  soft  voice,  and 
her  gentle,  pleading  manner.  "  Don't  notice  me  if  I  talk  or 


154  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

look  as  I  ought  not.  I  lose  myself  sometimes,  without  know 
ing  it;  and  I  suppose  I  lost  myself  just  now.  It  means 
nothing,  Uncle  Joseph — nothing,  indeed." 

Endeavoring  thus  to  re-assure  the  old  man,  she  again  al 
tered  the  position  of  her  chair,  so  as  to  place  her  back  toward 
the  part  of  the  room  to  which  her  face  had  been  hitherto 
turned. 

"  Well,  well,  it  is  good  to  hear  that,"  said  Uncle  Joseph ; 
"  but  speak  no  more  about  the  past  time,  for  fear  you  should 
lose  yourself  again.  Let  us  hear  about  what  is  now.  Yes, 
yes,  give  me  my  way.  Leave  the  Long  Ago  to  me,  and  take 
you  the  present  time.  I  can  go  back  through  the  sixteen 
years  as  well  as  you.  Ah  !  you  doubt  it  ?  Hear  me  tell  you 
what  happened  when  we  last  met — hear  me  prove  myself  in 
three  words  :  You  leave  your  place  at  the  old  house — you  run 
away  here — you  stop  in  hiding  with  me,  while  your  master 
and  his  servants  are  hunting  after  you — you  start  off,  when 
your  road  is  clear,  to  work  for  your  living,  as  far  away  from 
Cornwall  as  you  can  get — I  beg  and  pray  you  to  stop  with 
me,  but  you  are  afraid  of  your  master,  and  away  you  go. 
There  !  that  is  the  whole  story  of  your  trouble  the  last  time 
you  came  to  this  house.  Leave  it  so;  and  tell  me  what  is 
the  cause  of  your  trouble  now." 

"  The  past  cause  of  my  trouble,  Uncle  Joseph,  and  the  pres 
ent  cause  of  my  trouble  are  the  same.  The  Secret — " 

"  What !  you  will  go  back  to  that !" 

"  I  must  go  back  to  it." 

"And  why?" 

"  Because  the  Secret  is  written  in  a  letter — " 

"  Yes ;  and  what  of  that  ?" 

"  And  the  letter  is  in  danger  of  being  discovered.  It  is, 
uncle — it  is !  Sixteen  years  it  has  lain  hidden — and  now, 
after  all  that  long  time,  the  dreadful  chance  of  its  being 
dragged  to  light  has  come  like  a  judgment.  The  one  person 
in  all  the  world  who  ought  never  to  set  eyes  on  that  letter 
is  the  very  person  who  is  most  likely  to  find  it !" 

"  So  !  so  !  Are  you  very  certain,  Sarah  ?  How  do  you 
know  it  ?" 

"I  know  it  from  her  own  lips.  Chance  brought  us  to 
gether — " 

"  Us  ?  us  ?     What  do  you  mean  by  us  ?" 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  155 

"I  mean — uncle,  you  remember  that  Captain  Treverton 
was  my  master  when  I  lived  at  Porthgenna  Tower?" 

"  I  had  forgotten  his  name.     But  no  matter — go  on." 

"  When  I  left  my  place,  Miss  Treverton  was  a  little  girl  of 
five  years  old.  She  is  a  married  woman  now — so  beautiful, 
so  clever,  such  a  sweet,  youthful,  happy  face !  And  she  has 
a  child  as  lovely  as  herself.  Oh,  uncle,  if  you  could  see  her  ! 
I  would  give  so  much  if  you  could  only  see  her !" 

Uncle  Joseph  kissed  his  hand  and  shrugged  his  shoulders ; 
expressing  by  the  first  action  homage  to  the  lady's  beauty, 
and  by  the  second  resignation  under  the  misfortune  of  not 
being  able  to  see  her.  "  Well,  well,"  he  said,  philosophically, 
"put  this  shining  woman  by,  and  let  us  go  on." 

"  Her  name  is  Frankland  now,"  said  Sarah.  "  A  prettier 
name  than  Treverton — a  much  prettier  name,  I  think.  Her 
husband  is  fond  of  her — I  am  sure  he  is.  How  can  he  have 
any  heart  at  all,  and  not  be  fond  of  her  ?" 

"  So !  so !"  exclaimed  Uncle  Joseph,  looking  very  much 
perplexed.  "  Good,  if  he  is  fond  of  her — very  good.  But 
what  labyrinth  are  we  getting  into  now  ?  Wherefore  all  this 
about  a  husband  and  a  wife  ?  My  word  of  honor,  Sarah,  but 
your  explanation  explains  nothing  —  it  only  softens  my 
brains." 

"  I  must  speak  of  her  and  of  Mr.  Frankland,  uncle.  Porth 
genna  Tower  belongs  to  her  husband  now,  and  they  are  both 
going  to  live  there." 

"  Ah  !  we  are  getting  back  into  the  straight  road  at  last." 

"  They  are  going  to  live  in  the  very  house  that  holds  the 
Secret ;  they  are  going  to  repair  that  very  part  of  it  where 
the  letter  is  hidden.  She  will  go  into  the  old  rooms — I  heard 
her  say  so ;  she  will  search  about  in  them  to  amuse  her  curi 
osity  ;  workmen  will  clear  them  out,  and  she  will  stand  by 
in  her  idle  hours,  looking  on." 

"  But  she  suspects  nothing  of  the  Secret  ?" 

"  God  forbid  she  ever  should  !" 

"  And  there  are  many  rooms  in  the  house  ?  And  the  letter 
in  which  the  Secret  is  written  is  hidden  in  one  of  the  many  ? 
Why  should  she  hit  on  that  one  ?" 

"  Because  I  always  say  the  wrong  thing  !  because  I  always 
get  frightened  and  lose  myself  at  the  wrong  time  !  The  let 
ter  is  hidden  in  a  room  called  the  Myrtle  Room,  and  I  was 


156  THE    DEAD    SECKET. 

foolish  enough,  weak  enough,  crazed  enough,  to  warn  her 
against  going  into  it." 

"Ah,  Sarah  !  Sarah  !  that  was  a  mistake,  indeed." 

"  I  can't  tell  what  possessed  me — I  seemed  to  lose  my  senses 
when  I  heard  her  talking  so  innocently  of  amusing  herself 
by  searching  through  the  old  rooms,  and  when  I  thought  of 
what  she  might  find  there.  It  was  getting  on  toward  night, 
too ;  the  horrible  twilight  was  gathering  in  the  corners  and 
creeping  along  the  walls.  I  longed  to  light  the  candles,  and 
yet  I  did  not  dare,  for  fear  she  should  see  the  truth  in  my  face. 
And  when  I  did  light  them  it  was  worse.  Oh,  I  don't  know 
how  I  did  it !  I  don't  know  why  I  did  it !  I  could  have 
torn  my  tongue  out  for  saying  the  words,  and  still  I  said 
them.  Other  people  can  think  for  the  best ;  other  people 
can  act  for  the  best ;  other  people  have  had  a  heavy  weight 
laid  on  their  minds,  and  have  not  dropped  under  it  as  I  have. 
Help  me,  uncle,  for  the  sake  of  old  times  when  we  were 
happy — help  me  with  a  word  of  advice." 

"  I  will  help  you ;  I  live  to  help  you,  Sarah  !  No,  no,  no — 
you  must  not  look  so  forlorn ;  you  must  not  look  at  me  with 
those  crying  eyes.  Come !  I  will  advise  this  minute — but 
say  in  what ;  only  say  in  what." 

"  Have  I  not  told  you  ?" 

"  No ;  you  have  not  told  me  a  word  yet." 

"  I  will  tell  you  now." 

She  paused,  looked  away  distrustfully  toward  the  door  lead 
ing  into  the  shop,  listened  a  little,  and  resumed :  "I  am  not 
at  the  end  of  my  journey  yet,  Uncle  Joseph — I  am  here  on 
my  way  to  Porthgenna  Tower — on  my  way  to  the  Myrtle 
Room — on  my  way,  step  by  step,  to  the  place  where  the  letter 
lies  hid.  I  dare  not  destroy  it ;  I  dare  not  remove  it ;  but  run 
what  risk  I  may,  I  must  take  it  out  of  the  Myrtle  Room." 

Uncle  Joseph  said  nothing,  but  he  shook  his  head  despoil d- 
ingly. 

"I  must,"  she  repeated;  "before  Mrs.  Frankland  gets  to 
Porthgenna,  I  must  take  that  letter  out  of  the  Myrtle  Room. 
There  are  places  in  the  old  house  where  I  may  hide  it  again 
—  places  that  she  would  never  think  of — places  that  she 
would  never  notice.  Only  let  me  get  it  out  of  the  one  room 
that  she  is  sure  to  search  in.  and  I  know  where  to  hide  it 
from  her  and  from  every  one  forever." 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  157 

Uncle  Joseph  reflected,  and  shook  his  head  again — then 
said  :  "  One  word,  Sarah  ;  does  Mrs.  Frankland  know  which 
is  the  Myrtle  Room  ?" 

"  I  did  my  best  to  destroy  all  trace  of  that  name  when  I 
hid  the  letter;  I  hope  and  believe  she  does  not.  But  she 
may  find  out — remember  the  words  I  was  crazed  enough  to 
speak ;  they  will  set  her  seeking  for  the  Myrtle  Room ;  they 
are  sure  to  do  that." 

"  And  if  she  finds  it  ?    And  if  she  finds  the  letter  ?" 

"  It  will  cause  misery  to  innocent  people ;  it  will  bring 
death  to  me.  Don't  push  your  chair  from  me,  uncle  !  It  is 
not  shameful  death  I  speak  of.  The  worst  injury  I  have 
done  is  injury  to  myself;  the  worst  death  I  have  to  fear  is 
the  death  that  releases  a  worn-out  spirit  and  cures  a  broken 
heart." 

"Enough — enough  so,"  said  the  old  man.  "I  ask  for  no 
secret,  Sarah,  that  is  not  yours  to  give.  It  is  all  dark  to  me 
— very  dark,  very  confused.  I  look  away  from  it ;  I  look  only 
toward  you.  Not  with  doubt,  my  child,  but  with  pity,  and 
with  sorrow,  too — sorrow  that  ever  you  went  near  that 
house  of  Porthgenna — sorrow  that  you  are  now  going  to  it 
again." 

"  I  have  no  choice,  uncle,  but  to  go.  If  every  step  on  the 
road  to  Porthgenna  took  me  nearer  and  nearer  to  my  death, 
I  must  still  tread  it.  Knowing  what  I  know,  I  can't  rest,  I 
can't  sleep — my  very  breath  won't  come  freely — till  I  have 
got  that  letter  out  of  the  Myrtle  Room.  How  to  do  it — oh, 
Uncle  Joseph,  how  to  do  it,  without  being  suspected,  without 
being  discovered  by  any  body — that  is  what  I  would  almost 
give  my  life  to  know !  You  are  a  man ;  you  are  older  and 
wiser  than  I  am ;  no  living  creature  ever  asked  you  for  help 
in  vain — help  me  now  !  my  only  friend  in  all  the  world,  help 
me  a  little  with  a  word  of  advice  !" 

Uncle  Joseph  rose  from  his  chair,  and  folded  his  arms  res 
olutely,  and  looked  his  niece  full  in  the  face. 

"  You  will  go  ?"  he  said.  "  Cost  what  it  may,  you  will  go  ? 
Say,  for  the  last  time,  Sarah,  is  it  yes  or  no  ?" 

"  Yes  !     For  the  last  time,  I  say  Yes." 

"Good.     And  you  will  go  soon?"    * 

"I  must  go  to-morrow.  I  dare  not  waste  a  single  day; 
hours  even  may  be  precious  for  any  thing  I  can  tell." 


158  THE    DEAD    SECKET. 

"  You  promise  me,  my  child,  that  the  hiding  of  this  Secret 
does  good,  and  that  the  finding  of  it  will  do  harm?" 

"  If  it  was  the  last  word  I  had  to  speak  in  this  world,  I 
would  say  Yes !" 

"  You  promise  me,  also,  that  you  want  nothing  but  to  take 
the  letter  out  of  the  Myrtle  Room,  and  put  it  away  some 
where  else  ?" 

"  Nothing  but  that." 

"And  it  is  yours  to  take  and  yours  to  put?  No  person 
has  a  better  right  to  touch  it  than  you  ?" 

"  Now  that  my  master  is  dead,  no  person." 

"  Good.  You  have  given  me  my  resolution.  I  have  done. 
Sit  you  there,  Sarah ;  and  wonder,  if  you  like,  but  say  noth 
ing."  With  these  words,  Uncle  Joseph  stepped  lightly  to  the 
door  leading  into  the  shop,  opened  it,  and  called  to  the  man 
behind  the  counter. 

"  Samuel,  my  friend,"  he  said.  "  To-morrow  I  go  a  little 
ways  into  the  country  with  my  niece,  who  is  this  lady  here. 
You  keep  shop  and  take  orders,  and  be  just  as  careful  as  you 
always  are,  till  I  get  back.  If  any  body  comes  and  asks  for 
Mr.  Buschmann,  say  he  has  gone  a  little  ways  into  the  coun 
try,  and  will  be  back  in  a  few  days.  That  is  all.  Shut  up 
the  shop,  Samuel,  my  friend,  for  the  night ;  and  go  to  your 
supper.  I  wish  you  good  appetite,  nice  victuals,  and  sound 
sleep." 

Before  Samuel  could  thank  his  master,  the  door  was  shut 
again.  Before  Sarah  could  say  a  word,  Uncle  Joseph's  hand 
was  on  her  lips,  and  Uncle  Joseph's  handkerchief  was  wiping 
away  the  tears  that  were  now  falling  fast  from  her  eyes. 

"  I  will  have  no  more  talking,  and  no  more  crying,"  said 
the  old  man.  "  I  am  a  German,  and  I  glory  in  the  obstinacy 
of  six  Englishmen,  all  rolled  into  one.  To-night  you  sleep 
here,  to-morrow  we  talk  again  of  all  this.  You  want  me  to 
help  you  with  a  word  of  advice.  I  will  help  you  with  my 
self,  which  is  better  than  advice,  and  I  say  no  more  till  I 
fetch  my  pipe  down  from  the  wall  there,  and  ask  him  to  make 
me  think.  I  smoke  and  think  to-night — I  talk  and  do  to-mor 
row.  And  you,  you  go  up  to  bed ;  you  take  Uncle  Max's 
music  box  in  your  hand,  and  you  let  Mozart  sing  the  cradle 
song  before  you  go  to  sleep.  Yes,  yes,  my  child,  there  is  al 
ways  comfort  in  Mozart  —  better  comfort  than  in  crying. 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  159 

What  is  there  to  cry  about,  or  to  thank  about  ?  Is  it  so 
great  a  wonder  that  I  will  not  let  my  sister's  child  go  alone 
to  make  a  venture  in  the  dark?  I  said  Sarah's  sorrow  was 
my  sorrow,  and  Sarah's  joy  my  joy ;  and  now,  if  there  is  no 
way  of  escape — if  it  must  indeed  be  done — I  also  say:  Sa 
rah's  risk  to-morrow  is  Uncle  Joseph's  risk  to-morrow,  too! 
Good-night,  my  child — good-night." 


CHAPTER  II. 

OUTSIDE    THE    HOUSE. 

THE  next  morning  wrought  no  change  in  the  resolution  at 
which  Uncle  Joseph  had  arrived  overnight.  Out  of  the 
amazement  and  confusion  produced  in  his  mind  by  his  niece's 
avowal  of  the  object  that  had  brought  her  to  Cornwall,  he 
had  contrived  to  extract  one  clear  and  definite  conclusion — 
that  she  was  obstinately  bent  on  placing  herself  in  a  situation 
of  uncertainty,  if  not  of  absolute  peril.  Once  persuaded  of 
this,  his  kindly  instincts  all  sprang  into  action,  his  natural 
firmness  on  the  side  of  self-sacrifice  asserted  itself,  and  his 
determination  not  to  let  Sarah  proceed  on  her  journey  alone, 
followed  as  a  matter  of  course. 

Strong  in  the  self-denying  generosity  of  his  purpose  — 
though  strong  in  nothing  else — when  he  and  his  niece  met  in 
the  morning,  and  when  Sarah  spoke  self-reproachfully  of  the 
sacrifice  that  he  was  making,  of  the  serious  hazards  to  which 
he  was  exposing  himself  for  her  sake,  he  refused  to  listen  to 
her  just  as  obstinately  as  he  had  refused  the  previous  night. 
There  was  no  need,  he  said,  to  speak  another  word  on  that 
subject.  If  she  had  abandoned  her  intention  of  going  to 
Porthgenna,  she  had  only  to  say  so.  If  she  had  not,  it  wras 
mere  waste  of  breath  to  talk  any  more,  for  he  was  deaf  in 
both  ears  to  every  thing  in  the  shape  of  a  remonstrance  that 
she  could  possibly  address  to  him.  Having  expressed  him 
self  in  these  uncompromising  terms,  Uncle  Joseph  abruptly 
dismissed  the  subject,  and  tried  to  turn  the  conversation  to 
a  cheerful  every-day  topic  by  asking  his  niece  how  she  had 
passed  the  night. 

"I  was  too  anxious  to  sleep,"  she  answered.  "I  can't 
fight  with  my  fears  and  misgivings  as  some  people  can.  All 


160  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

night  long  they  keep  me  waking  and  thinking  as  if  it  was 
day." 

"  Thinking  about  what  ?"  asked  Uncle  Joseph.  "  About  the 
letter  that  is  hidden?  about  the  house  of  Porthgenna?  about 
the  Myrtle  Room  ?" 

"About  how  to  get  into  the  Myrtle  Room,"  she  said. 
"  The  more  I  try  to  plan  and  ponder,  and  settle  beforehand 
what  I  shall  do,  the  more  confused  and  helpless  I  seem  to  be. 
All  last  night,  uncle,  I  was  trying  to  think  of  some  excuse  for 
getting  inside  the  doors  of  Porthgenna  Tower — and  yet,  if  I 
was  standing  on  the  house-step  at  this  moment,  I  should  not 
know  what  to  say  when  the  servant  and  I  first  came  face  to 
face.  How  are  we  to  persuade  them  to  let  us  in  ?  How  am 
I  to  slip  out  of  sight,  even  if  we  do  get  in  ?  Can't  you  tell 
me  ? — you  will  try,  Uncle  Joseph — I  am  sure  you  will  try. 
Only  help  me  so  far,  and  I  think  I  can  answer  for  the  rest. 
If  they  keep  the  keys  where  they  used  to  keep  them  in  my 
time,  ten  minutes  to  myself  is  all  I  should  want — ten  minutes, 
only  ten  short  minutes,  to  make  the  end  of  my  life  easier  to 
me  than  the  beginning  has  been ;  to  help  me  to  grow  old 
quietly  and  resignedly,  if  it  is  God's  will  that  I  should  live 
out  my  years.  Oh,  how  happy  people  must  be  who  have  all 
the  courage  they  want ;  who  are  quick  and  clever,  and  have 
their  wits  about  them !  You  are  readier  than  I  am,  uncle ; 
you  said  last  night  that  you  would  think  about  how  to 
advise  me  for  the  best — what  did  your  thoughts  end  in? 
You  will  make  me  so  much  easier  if  you  will  only  tell  me 
that." 

Uncle  Joseph  nodded  assentingly,  assumed  a  look  of  the 
profoundest  gravity,  and  slowly  laid  his  forefinger  along  the 
side  of  his  nose. 

"  What  did  I  promise  you  last  night  ?"  he  said.  "  Was  it 
not  to  take  my  pipe,  and  ask  him  to  make  me  think  ?  Good, 
I  smoke  three  pipes,  and  think  three  thoughts.  My  first 
thought  is — Wait !  My  second  thought  is  again — Wait !  My 
third  thought  is  yet  once  more — Wait !  You  say  you  will  be 
easy,  Sarah,  if  I  tell  you  the  end  of  all  my  thoughts.  Good, 
I  have  told  you.  There  is  the  end — you  are  easy — it  is  all 
right." 

"Wait?"  repeated  Sarah,  with  a  look  of  bewilderment 
which  suggested  any  thing  rather  than  a  mind  at  ease.  "I 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  161 

am  afraid,  uncle,  I  don't  quite  understand.  Wait  for  what  ? 
Wait  till  when  ?" 

"  Wait  till  we  arrive  at  the  house,  to  be  sure  !  Wait  till 
we  are  got  outside  the  door;  then  is  time  enough  to  think 
how  we  are  to  get  in,"  said  Uncle  Joseph,  with  an  air  of  con 
viction.  "  You  understand  now  ?" 

"Yes — at  least  I  understand  better  than  I  did.  But  there 
is  still  another  difficulty  left.  Uncle !  I  must  tell  you  more 
than  I  intended  ever  to  tell  any  body — I  must  tell  you  that 
the  letter  is  locked  up." 

"  Locked  up  in  a  room  ?" 

"  Worse  than  that  —  locked  up  in  something  inside  the 
room.  The  key  that  opens  the  door — even  if  I  get  it — the 
key  that  opens  the  door  of  the  room  is  not  all  I  want.  There 
is  another  key  besides  that,  a  little  key—  '  She  stopped,  with 
a  confused,  startled  look. 

"A  little  key  that  you  have  lost?"  asked  Uncle  Joseph. 

"  I  threw  it  down  the  well  in  the  village  on  the  morning 
when  I  made  my  escape  from  Porthgenna.  Oh,  if  I  had  only 
kept  it  about  me !  If  it  had  only  crossed  my  mind  that  I 
might  w^ant  it  again  !" 

"  Well,  well ;  there  is  no  help  for  that  now.  Tell  me,  Sa 
rah,  what  the  something  is  which  the  letter  is  hidden  in." 

"I  am  afraid  of  the  very  walls  hearing  me." 

"  What  nonsense  !     Come  !  whisper  it  to  me." 

She  looked  all  round  her  distrustfully,  and  then  whispered 
into  the  old  man's  ear.  He  listened  eagerly,  and  laughed 
when  she  was  silent  again.  "  Bah  !"  he  cried.  "  If  that  is 
all,  make  yourself  happy.  As  you  wicked  English  people 
say,  it  is  as  easy  as  lying.  Why,  my  child,  you  can  burst 
him  open  for  yourself." 

"Burst  it  open?     How?" 

Uncle  Joseph  went  to  the  window-seat,  which  was  made 
on  the  old-fashioned  plan,  to  serve  the  purpose  of  a  chest  as 
well  as  a  seat.  He  opened  the  lid,  searched  among  some 
tools  which  lay  in  the  receptacle  beneath,  and  took  out  a 
chisel.  "  See,"  he  said,  demonstrating  on  the  top  of  the  win 
dow-seat  the  use  to  which  the  tool  was  to  be  put.  "  You 
push  him  in  so — crick !  Then  you  pull  him  up  so — crack ! 
It  is  the  business  of  one  little  moment — crick  !  crack  ! — and 
the  lock  is  done  for.  Take  the  chisel  yourself,  wrap  him  up 

H 


162  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

in  a  bit  of  that  stout  paper  there,  and  put  him  in  your  pocket. 
What  are  you  waiting  for  ?  Do  you  want  me  to  show  you 
again,  or  do  you  think  you  can  do  it  now  for  yourself?" 

"I  should  like  you  to  show  me  again,  Uncle  Joseph,  but 
not  now — not  till  we  have  got  to  the  end  of  our  journey." 

"  Good.  Then  I  may  finish  my  packing  up,  and  go  ask 
about  the  coach.  First  and  foremost,  Mozart  must  put  on 
his  great  coat,  and  travel  with  us."  He  took  up  the  musical 
box,  and  placed  it  carefully  in  a  leather  case,  which  he  slung 
by  a  strap  over  one  shoulder.  "  Next,  there  is  my  pipe,  the 
tobacco  to  feed  him  with,  and  the  matches  to  set  him  alight. 
Last,  here  is  my  old  German  knapsack,  which  I  pack  last 
night.  See  !  here  is  shirt,  night-cap,  comb,  pocket-handker 
chief,  sock.  Say  I  am  an  emperor,  and  what  do  I  want  more 
than  that  ?  Good.  I  have  Mozart,  I  have  the  pipe,  I  have 
the  knapsack.  I  have — stop  !  stop  J  there  is  the  old  leather 
purse ;  he  must  not  be  forgotten.  Look  !  here  he  is.  Listen ! 
Ting,  ting,  ting !  He  jingles ;  he  has  in  his  inside  money. 
Aha,  my  friend,  my  good  Leather,  you  shall  be  lighter  and 
leaner  before  you  come  home  again.  So,  so — it  is  all  com 
plete  ;  we  are  ready  for  the  march  now,  from  our  tops  to  our 
toes.  Good-by,  Sarah,  my  child,  for  a  little  half-hour ;  you 
shall  wait  here  and  amuse  yourself  while  I  go  ask  for  the 
coach." 

When  Uncle  Joseph  came  back,  he  brought  his  niece  in 
formation  that  a  coach  would  pass  through  Truro  in  an  hour's 
time,  which  would  set  them  down  at  a  stage  not  more  than 
five  or  six  miles  distant  from  the  regular  post-town  of  Porth- 
genna.  The  only  direct  conveyance  to  the  post-town  was  a 
night-coach  which  carried  the  letter-bags,  and  which  stopped 
to  change  horses  at  Truro  at  the  very  inconvenient  hour  of 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Being  of  opinion  that  to  travel 
at  bed-time  was  to  make  a  toil  of  a  pleasure,  Uncle  Joseph 
recommended  taking  places  in  the  day-coach,  and  hiring  any 
conveyance  that  could  be  afterward  obtained  to  carry  his 
niece  and  himself  on  to  the  post-town.  By  this  arrangement 
they  would  not  only  secure  their  own  comfort,  but  gain  the 
additional  advantage  of  losing  as  little  time  as  possible  at 
Truro  before  proceeding  on  their  journey  to  Porthgenna. 

The  plan  thus  proposed  was  the  plan  followed.  When  the 
coach  stopped  to  change  horses,  Uncle  Joseph  and  his  niece 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  163 

were  waiting  to  take  their  places  by  it.  They  found  all  the 
inside  seats  but  one  disengaged,  were  set  down  two  hours  aft 
erward  at  the  stage  that  was  nearest  to  the  destination  for 
which  they  were  bound,  hired  a  pony-chaise  there,  and  reached 
the  post-town  between  one  and  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 

Dismissing  their  conveyance  at  the  inn,  from  motives  of 
caution  which  were  urged  by  Sarah,  they  set  forth  to  walk 
across  the  moor  to  Porthgenna.  On  their  way  out  of  the 
town  they  met  the  postman  returning  from  his  morning's 
delivery  of  letters  in  the  surrounding  district.  His  bag  had 
been  much  heavier  and  his  walk  much  longer  that  morning 
than  usual.  Among  the  extra  letters  that  had  taken  him  out 
of  his  ordinary  course  was  one  addressed  to  the  housekeeper 
at  Porthgenna  Tower,  which  he  had  delivered  early  in  the 
morning,  when  he  first  started  on  his  rounds. 

Throughout  the  whole  journey,  Uncle  Joseph  had  not  made 
a  single  reference  to  the  object  for  which  it  had  been  under 
taken.  Possessing  a  child's  simplicity  of  nature,  he  was  also 
endowed  with  a  child's  elasticity  of  disposition.  The  doubts 
and  forebodings  which  troubled  his  niece's  spirit,  and  kept 
her  silent  and  thoughtful  and  sad,  cast  no  darkening  shadow 
over  the  natural  sunshine  of  his  mind.  If  he  had  really  been 
traveling  for  pleasure  alone,  he  could  not  have  enjoyed  more 
thoroughly  than  he  did  the  different  sights  and  events  of  the 
journey.  All  the  happiness  which  the  passing  minute  had  to 
give  him  he  took  as  readily  and  gratefully  as  if  there  was  no 
uncertainty  in  the  future,  no  doubt,  difficulty,  or  danger  lying 
in  wait  for  him  at  the  journey's  end.  Before  he  had  been 
half  an  hour  in  the  coach  he  had  begun  to  tell  the  third  in 
side  passenger — a  rigid  old  lady,  who  stared  at  him  in  speech 
less  amazement — the  whole  history  of  the  musical  box,  end 
ing  the  narrative  by  setting  it  playing,  in  defiance  of  all  the 
noise  that  the  rolling  wheels  could  make.  When  they  left 
the  coach,  he  was  just  as  sociable  afterward  with  the  driver 
of  the  chaise,  vaunting  the  superiority  of  German  beer  over 
Cornish  cider,  and  making  his  remarks  upon  the  objects  which 
they  passed  on  the  road  with  the  pleasantest  familiarity,  and 
the  heartiest  enjoyment  of  his  own  jokes.  It  was  not  till 
he  and  Sarah  were  well  out  of  the  little  town,  and  away  by 
themselves  on  the  great  moor  which  stretched  beyond  it,  that 
his  manner  altered,  arid  his  talk  ceased  altogether.  After 


164  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

walking  on  in  silence  for  some  little  time,  with  his  niece's  arm 
in  his,  he  suddenly  stopped,  looked  her  earnestly  and  kindly 
in  the  face,  and  laid  his  hand  on  hers. 

"  There  is  yet  one  thing  more  I  want  to  ask  you,  my  child," 
he  said.  "  The  journey  has  put  it  out  of  my  head,  but  it  has 
been  in  my  heart  all  the  time.  When  we  leave  this  place  of 
Porthgenna,  and  get  back  to  my  house,  you  will  not  go  away? 
you  will  not  leave  Uncle  Joseph  again  ?  Are  you  in  service 
still,  Sarah  ?  Are  you  not  your  own  master  yet  ?" 

"  I  was  in  service  a  few  days  since,"  she  answered ;  "  but  I 
am  free  now.  I  have  lost  my  place." 

"  Aha  !     You  have  lost  your  place ;  and  why  ?" 

"Because  I  would  not  hear  an  innocent  person  unjustly 
blamed.  Because — " 

She  checked  herself.  But  the  few  words  she  had  said  were 
spoken  with  such  a  suddenly  heightened  color,  and  with  such 
an  extraordinary  emphasis  and  resolution  of  tone,  that  the 
old  man  opened  his  eyes  as  widely  as  possible,  and  looked  at 
his  niece  in  undisguised  astonishment. 

"  So  !  so  !  so  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  What !  You  have  had  a 
quarrel,  Sarah  !" 

"  Hush !  Don't  ask  me  any  more  questions  now !"  she 
pleaded  earnestly.  "I  am  too  anxious  and  too  frightened  to 
answer.  Uncle !  this  is  Porthgenna  Moor — this  is  the  road 
I  passed  over,  sixteen  years  ago,  when  I  ran  away  to  you. 
Oh  !  let  us  get  on,  pray  let  us  get  on  !  I  can't  think  of  any 
thing  now  but  the  house  we  are  so  near,  and  the  risk  we  are 
going  to  run." 

They  went  on  quickly,  in  silence.  Half  an  hour's  rapid 
walking  brought  them  to  the  highest  elevation  on  the  moor, 
and  gave  the  wrhole  western  prospect  grandly  to  their  view. 

There,  below  them,  was  the  dark,  lonesome,  spacious  struct 
ure  of  Porthgenna  Tower,  with  the  sunlight  already  stealing 
round  toward  the  windows  of  the  west  front !  There  was 
the  path  winding  away  to  it  gracefully  over  the  brown  moor, 
in  curves  of  dazzling  white  !  There,  lower  down,  was  the  sol 
itary  old  church,  with  the  peaceful  burial-ground  nestling  by 
its  side  !  There,  lower  still,  were  the  little  scattered  roofs  of 
the  fishermen's  cottages !  And  there,  beyond  all,  was  the 
changeless  glory  of  the  sea,  with  its  old  seething  lines  of 
white  foam,  with  the  old  winding  margin  of  its  yellow  shores ! 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  165 

Sixteen  long  years — such  years  of  sorrow,  such  years  of  suf 
fering,  such  years  of  change,  counted  by  the  pulses  of  the  liv 
ing  heart ! — had  passed  over  the  dead  tranquillity  of  Porth- 
genna,  and  had  altered  it  as  little  as  if  they  had  all  been  con 
tained  within  the  lapse  of  a  single  day! 

The  moments  when  the  spirit  within  us  is  most  deeply 
stirred  are  almost  invariably  the  moments  also  when  its  out 
ward  manifestations  are  hardest  to  detect.  Our  own  thoughts 

O 

rise  above  us ;  our  own  feelings  lie  deeper  than  we  can  reach. 
How  seldom  words  can  help  us,  when  their  help  is  most 
wanted !  How  often  our  tears  are  dried  up  when  we  most 
long  for  them  to  relieve  us !  Was  there  ever  a  strong  emo 
tion  in  this  world  that  could  adequately  express  its  own 
strength  ?  What  third  person,  brought  face  to  face  with  the 
old  man  and  his  niece,  as  they  now  stood  together  on  the 
moor,  would  have  suspected,  to  look  at  them,  that  the  one 
was  contemplating  the  landscape  with  nothing  more  than 
a  stranger's  curiosity,  and  that  the  other  was  viewing  it 
through  the  recollections  of  half  a  lifetime?  The  eyes  of 
both  were  dry,  the  tongues  of  both  were  silent,  the  faces  of 
both  were  set  with  equal  attention  toward  the  prospect. 
Even  between  themselves  there  was  no  real  sympathy,  no  in 
telligible  appeal  from  one  spirit  to  the  other.  The  old  man's 
quiet  admiration  of  the  view  was  not  more  briefly  and  read 
ily  expressed,  when  they  moved  forward  and  spoke  to  each 
other,  than  the  customary  phrases  of  assent  by  which  his 
niece  replied  to  the  little  that  he  said.  How  many  moments 
there  are  in  this  mortal  life,  when,  with  all  our  boasted  powers 
of  speech,  the  words  of  our  vocabulary  treacherously  fade  out, 
and  the  page  presents  nothing  to  us  but  the  sight  of  a  per 
fect  blank ! 

Slowly  descending  the  slope  of  the  moor,  the  uncle  and 
niece  drew  nearer  and  nearer  to  Porthgenna  Tower.  They 
were  within  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  walk  of  the  house  when 
Sarah  stopped  at  a  place  where  a  second  path  intersected  the 
main  foot-track  which  they  had  hitherto  been  following.  On 
the  left  hand,  as  they  now  stood,  the  cross-path  ran  on  until 
it  was  lost  to  the  eye  in  the  expanse  of  the  moor.  On  the 
right  hand  it  led  straight  to  the  church. 

"  What  do  we  stop  for  now  ?"  asked  Uncle  Joseph,  looking 
first  in  one  direction  and  then  in  the  other. 


166  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

"  Would  you  mind  waiting  for  me  here  a  little  while,  uncle? 
I  can't  pass  the  church  path — "  (she  paused,  in  some  trouble 
how  to  express  herself) — "  without  wishing  (as  I  don't  know 
what  may  happen  after  we  get  to  the  house),  without  wish 
ing  to  see — to  look  at  something —  She  stopped  again, 
and  turned  her  face  wistfully  toward  the  church.  The  tears, 
which  had  never  wetted  her  eyes  at  the  first  view  of  Porth- 
genna,  were  beginning  to  rise  in  them  now. 

Uncle  Joseph's  natural  delicacy  warned  him  that  it  would 
be  best  to  abstain  from  asking  her  for  any  explanations. 

"Go  you  where  you  like,  to  see  what  you  like,"  he  said, 
patting  her  on  the  shoulder.  "  I  shall  stop  here  to  make  my 
self  happy  with  my  pipe;  and  Mozart  shall  come  out  of  his 
cage,  and  sing  a  little  in  this  fine  fresh  air."  He  unslung  the 
leather  case  from  his  shoulder  while  he  spoke,  took  out  the 
musical  box,  and  set  it  ringing  its  tiny  peal  to  the  second  of 
the  two  airs  which  it  was  constructed  to  play — the  minuet  in 
Don  Giovanni.  Sarah  left  him  looking  about  carefully,  not 
for  a  seat  for  himself,  but  for  a  smooth  bit  of  rock  to  place 
the  box  upon.  When  he  had  found  this,  he  lit  his  pipe,  and 
sat  down  to  his  music  and  his  smoking,  like  an  epicure  to  a 
good  dinner.  "  Aha  !"  he  exclaimed  to  himself,  looking  round 
as  composedly  at  the  wild  prospect  on  all  sides  of  him  as  if 
he  was  still  in  his  own  little  parlor  at  Truro — "  Aha  !  Here  is 
a  fine  big  music-room,  my  friend  Mozart,  for  you  to  sing  in ! 
Ouf !  there  is  wind  enough  in  this  place  to  blow  your  pretty 
dance-tune  out  to  sea,  and  give  the  sailor-people  a  taste  of  it 
as  they  roll  about  in  their  ships." 

Meanwhile  Sarah  walked  on  rapidly  toward  the  church, 
and  entered  the  inclosure  of  the  little  burial-ground.  Toward 
that  same  part  of  it  to  which  she  had  directed  her  steps  on 
the  morning  of  her  mistress's  death,  she  now  turned  her  face 
again,  after  a  lapse  of  sixteen  years.  Here,  at  least,  the  march 
of  time  had  left  its  palpable  track — its  foot-prints  whose  marks 
were  graves.  How  many  a  little  spot  of  ground,  empty  when 
she  last  saw  it,  had  its  mound  and  its  head-stone  now  !  The 
one  grave  that  she  had  come  to  see — the  grave  which  had 
stood  apart  in  the  by -gone  days,  had  companion  graves  on 
the  right  hand  and  on  the  left.  She  could  not  have  singled 
it  out  but  for  the  weather  stains  on  the  head-stone,  which 
told  of  storm  and  rain  over  it,  that  had  not  passed  over  the 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  167 

rest.  The  mound  was  still  kept  in  shape;  but  the  grass 
grew  long,  and  waved  a  dreary  welcome  to  her  as  the  wind 
swept  through  it.  She  knelt  down  by  the  stone,  and  tried 
to  read  the  inscription.  The  black  paint  which  had  once 
made  the  carved  words  distinct  was  all  flayed  off  from  them 
now.  To  any  other  eyes  but  hers  the  very  name  of  the  dead 
man  would  have  been  hard  to  trace.  She  sighed  heavily  as 
she  followed  the  letters  of  the  inscription  mechanically,  one 
by  one,  with  her  finger  : 

SACKED    TO    THE    MEMORY 


OF 


AGED    26    YEARS. 

HE    MET    WITH    HIS    DEATH 

THROUGH    THE    FALL    OF    A    ROCK 

IN 

PORTHGENNA  MINE, 
DECEMBER     17TH,     1823. 

Her  hand  lingered  over  the  letters  after  it  had  followed 
them  to  the  last  line,  and  she  bent  forward  and  pressed  her 
lips  on  the  stone. 

"  Better  so  !"  she  said  to  herself,  as  she  rose  from  her  knees, 
and  looked  down  at  the  inscription  for  the  last  time.  "  Bet 
ter  it  should  fade  out  so  !  Fewer  strangers'  eyes  will  see  it  ; 
fewer  strangers'  feet  will  follow  where  mine  have  been  —  he 
will  lie  all  the  quieter  in  the  place  of  his  rest  I" 

She  brushed  the  tears  from  her  eyes,  and  gathered  a  few 
blades  of  grass  from  the  grave  —  then  left  the  church-yard. 
Outside  the  hedge  that  surrounded  the  inclosure  she  stopped 
for  a  moment,  and  drew  from  the  bosom  of  her  dress  the  lit 
tle  book  of  Wesley's  Hymns  which  she  had  taken  with  her 
from  the  desk  in  her  bedroom  on  the  morning  of  her  flight 
from  Porthgenna.  The  withered  remains  of  the  grass  that 
she  had  plucked  from  the  grave  sixteen  years  ago  lay  between 
the  pages  still.  She  added  to  them  the  fresh  fragments  that 
she  had  just  gathered,  replaced  the  book  in  the  bosom  of  her 
dress,  and  hastened  back  over  the  moor  to  the  spot  where  the 
old  man  was  waiting  for  her. 

She  found  him  packing  up  the  musical  box  again  in  its 

H2 


168  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

leather  case.  "  A  good  wind,"  he  said,  holding  up  the  palm 
of  his  hand  to  the  fresh  breeze  that  was  sweeping  over  the 
moor — "  A  very  good  wind,  indeed,  if  you  take  him  by  him 
self — but  a  bitter  bad  wind  if  you  take  him  with  Mozart.  He 
blows  off  the  tune  as  if  it  was  the  hat  on  my  head.  You  come 
back,  my  child,  just  at  the  nick  of  time — -just  when  my  pipe 
is  done,  and  Mozart  is  ready  to  travel  along  the  road  once 
more.  Ah,  have  you  got  the  crying  look  in  your  eyes  again, 
Sarah?  What  have  you  met  with  to  make  you  cry?  So! 
so  !  I  see — the  fewrer  questions  I  ask  just  now,  the  better  you 
will  like  me.  Good.  I  have  done.  No  !  I  have  a  last  ques 
tion  yet.  What  are  we  standing  here  for?  why  do  we  not 
go  on  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes ;  you  are  right,  Uncle  Joseph ;  let  us  go  on  at 
once.  I  shall  lose  all  the  little  courage  I  have  if  we  stay 
here  much  longer  looking  at  the  house." 

They  proceeded  down  the  path  without  another  moment 
of  delay.  When  they  had  reached  the  end  of  it,  they  stood 
opposite  the  eastern  boundary  wall  of  Porthgenna  Tower. 
The  principal  entrance  to  the  house,  which  had  been  very 
rarely  used  of  late  years,  was  in  the  west  front,  and  was  ap 
proached  by  a  terrace  road  that  overlooked  the  sea.  The 
smaller  entrance,  which  was  generally  used,  was  situated  on 
the  south  side  of  the  building,  and  led  through  the  servants' 
offices  to  the  great  hall  and  the  west  staircase.  Sarah's  old 
experience  of  Porthgenna  guided  her  instinctively  to\vard 
this  part  of  the  house.  She  led  her  companion  on  until  they 
gained  the  southern  angle  of  the  east  wall — then  stopped  and 
looked  about  her.  Since  they  had  passed  the  postman  and 
had  entered  on  the  moor,  they  had  not  set  eyes  on  a  living 
creature ;  and  still,  though  they  were  nowr  under  the  very 
walls  of  Porthgenna,  neither  man,  woman,  nor  child — not 
even  a  domestic  animal — appeared  in  view. 

"  It  is  very  lonely  here,"  said  Sarah,  looking  round  her  dis 
trustfully  ;  "  much  lonelier  than  it  used  to  be." 

"  Is  it  only  to  tell  me  what  I  can  see  for  myself  that  you 
are  stopping  now  ?"  asked  Uncle  Joseph,  wrhose  inveterate 
cheerfulness  would  have  been  proof  against  the  solitude  of 
Sahara  itself. 

"No,  no!"  she  answered,  in  a  quick,  anxious  whisper. 
"  But  the  bell  we  must  ring  at  is  so  close — only  round  there — 


THE    DEAD    8ECEET.  1G9 

I  should  like  to  know  what  we  are  to  say  when  we  come  face 
to  lace  with  the  servant.  You  told  me  it  was  time  enough 
to  think  about  that  when  we  were  at  the  door.  Uncle  !  we 
are  all  but  at  the  door  now.  What  shall  we  do  ?" 

"  The  first  thing  to  do,"  said  Uncle  Joseph,  shrugging  his 
shoulders,  "  is  surely  to  ring." 

"  Yes — but  when  the  servant  comes,  what  are  we  to  say  ?" 

"  Say  ?"  repeated  Uncle  Joseph,  knitting  his  eyebrows  quite 
fiercely  with  the  effort  of  thinking,  and  rapping  his  forehead 
with  his  forefinger  just  under  his  hat — "  Say  ?  Stop,  stop, 
stop,  stop  !  Ah,  I  have  got  it !  I  know  !  Make  yourself 
quite  easy,  Sarah.  The  moment  the  door  is  opened,  all  the 
speaking  to  the  servant  shall  be  done  by  me." 

"  Oh,  how  you  relieve  me  !     What  shall  you  say  ?" 

"  Say  ?  This — '  How  do  you  do  ?  We  have  come  to  see 
the  house.' " 

When  he  had  disclosed  that  remarkable  expedient  for  ef 
fecting  an  entrance  into  Porthgenna  Tower,  he  spread  out 
both  his  hands  interrogatively,  drew  back  several  paces  from 
his  niece,  and  looked  at  her  with  the  serenely  self-satisfied 
air  of  a  man  who  has  leaped,  at  one  mental  bound,  from  a 
doubt  to  a  discovery.  Sarah  gazed  at  him  in  astonishment. 
The  expression  of  absolute  conviction  on  his  face  staggered 
her.  The  poorest  of  all  the  poor  excuses  for  gaining  admis 
sion  into  the  house  which  she  herself  had  thought  of,  and 
had  rejected,  during  the  previous  night,  seemed  like  the  very 
perfection  of  artifice  by  comparison  with  such  a  childlishly 
simple  expedient  as  that  suggested  by  Uncle  Joseph.  And 
yet  there  he  stood,  apparently  quite  convinced  that  he  had 
hit  on  the  means  of  smoothing  away  all  obstacles  at  once. 
Not  knowing  what  to  say,  not  believing  sufficiently  in  the 
validity  of  her  own  doubts  to  venture  on  openly  expressing 
an  opinion  either  one  way  or  the  other,  she  took  the  last  refuge 
that  was  now  left  open  to  her — she  endeavored  to  gain  time. 

"It  is  very,  very  good  of  you,  uncle,  to  take  all  the  diffi 
culty  of  speaking  to  the  servant  on  your  own  shoulders,"  she 
said ;  the  hidden  despondency  at  her  heart  expressing  itself, 
in  spite  of  her,  in  the  faintness  of  her  voice  and  the  forlorn 
perplexity  of  her  eyes.  "  But  would  you  mind  waiting  a  lit 
tle  before  we  ring  at  the  door,  and  walking  up  and  down  for 
a  few  minutes  by  the  side  of  this  wall,  where  nobody  is  likely 


170  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

to  see  us  ?  I  want  to  get  a  little  more  time  to  prepare  my 
self  for  the  trial  that  I  have  to  go  through  ;  and — and  in  case 
the  servant  makes  any  difficulties  about  letting  us  in — I  mean 
difficulties  that  we  can  not  just  now  anticipate — would  it  not 
be  as  well  to  think  of  something  else  to  say  at  the  door? 
Perhaps,  if  you  were  to  consider  again— 

"  There  is  not  the  least  need,"  interposed  Uncle  Joseph. 
"  I  have  only  to  speak  to  the  servant,  and — crick  !  crack  ! — 
you  will  see  that  we  shall  get  in.  But  I  will  walk  up  and 
down  as  long  as  you  please.  There  is  no  reason,  because  I 
have  done  all  my  thinking  in  one  moment,  that  you  should 
have  done  all  your  thinking  in  one  moment  too.  No,  no,  no 
— no  reason  at  all."  Saying  those  words  with  a  patronizing 
air  and  a  self-satisfied  smile,  which  would  have  been  irresist 
ibly  comical  under  any  less  critical  circumstances,  the  old 
man  again  offered  his  arm  to  his  niece,  and  led  her  back  over 
the  broken  ground  that  lay  under  the  eastern  wall  of  Porth- 
genna  Tower. 

While  Sarah  was  waiting  in  doubt  outside  the  walls,  it 

happened,  by  a  curious  coincidence,  that  another  person, 

vested  with  the  highest  domestic  authority,  was  also  waiting 

in  doubt  inside  the  walls.     This  person  was  no  other  than 

!  the  housekeeper  of  Porthgenna  Tower;  and  the  cause  of  her 

i   perplexity  was  nothing  less  than  the  letter  which  had  been 

|  delivered  by  the  postman  that  very  morning. 

It  was  a  letter  from  Mrs.  Frankland,  which  had  been  writ 
ten  after  she  had  held  a  long  conversation  with  her  husband 
and  Mr.  Orridge,  on  receiving  the  last  fragments  of  informa 
tion  which  the  doctor  was  able  to  communicate  in  reference 
to  Mrs.  Jazeph. 

The  housekeeper  had  read  the  letter  through  over  and  over 
again,  and  was  more  puzzled  and  astonished  by  it  at  every 
fresh  reading.  She  was  now  waiting  for  the  return  of  the 
steward,  Mr.  Munder,  from  his  occupations  out  of  doors,  with 
the  intention  of  taking  his  opinion  on  the  singular  communi 
cation  which  she  had  received  from  her  mistress. 

While  Sarah  and  her  uncle  were  still  walking  up  and  down 
outside  the  eastern  wall,  Mr.  Munder  entered  the  housekeep 
er's  room.  He  was  one  of  those  tall,  grave,  benevolent-look 
ing  men,  with  a  conical  head,  a  deep  voice,  a  slow  step,  and 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  171 

a  heavy  manner,  who  passively  contrive  to  get  a  great  repu 
tation  for  wisdom  without  the  trouble  of  saying  or  doing  any 
thing  to  deserve  it.  All  round  the  Porthgenna  neighborhood 
the  steward  was  popularly  spoken  of  as  a  remarkably  sound, 
sensible  man  ;  and  the  housekeeper,  although  a  sharp  woman 
in  other  matters,  in  this  one  respect  shared  to  a  large  extent 
in  the  general  delusion. 

"  Good-morning,  Mrs.  Pentreath,"  said  Mr.  Munder.  "  Any 
news  to-day  ?"  What  a  weight  and  importance  his  deep  voice 
and  his  impressively  slow  method  of  using  it,  gave  to  those 
two  insignificant  sentences ! 

"  News,  Mr.  Munder,  that  will  astonish  you,"  replied  the 
housekeeper.  "I  have  received  a  letter  this  morning  from 
Mrs.  Frankland,  which  is,  without  any  exception,  the  most 
mystifying  thing  of  the  sort  I  ever  met  with.  I  am  told  to 
communicate  the  letter  to  you ;  and  I  have  been  waiting  the 
whole  morning  to  hear  your  opinion  of  it.  Pray  sit  down, 
and  give  me  all  your  attention — for  I  do  positively  assure 
you  that  the  letter  requires  it." 

Mr.  Munder  sat  down,  and  became  the  picture  of  attention 
immediately — not  of  ordinary  attention,  which  can  be  wea 
ried,  but  of  judicial  attention,  which  knows  no  fatigue,  and  is 
superior  alike  to  the  power  of  dullness  and  the  power  of  time. 
The  housekeeper,  without  wasting  the  precious  minutes — Mr. 
Munder's  minutes,  which  ranked  next  on  the  scale  of  impor 
tance  to  a  prime  minister's  ! — opened  her  mistress's  letter,  and, 
resisting  the  natural  temptation  to  make  a  few  more  prefatory 
remarks  on  it,  immediately  favored  the  steward  with  the  first 
paragraph,  in  the  following  terms : 

"MRS.  PENTREATH, — You  must  be  tired  of  receiving  letters 
from  me,  fixing  a  day  for  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Frankland  and 
myself.  On  this,  the  third  occasion  of  my  writing  to  you 
about  our  plans,  it  will  be  best,  I  think,  to  make  no  third  ap 
pointment,  but  merely  to  say  that  we  shall  leave  West  Wins 
ton  for  Porthgenna  the  moment  I  can  get  the  doctor's  permis 
sion  to  travel." 

"  So  far,"  remarked  Mrs.  Pentreath,  placing  the  letter  on 
her  lap,  and  smoothing  it  out  rather  irritably  while  she  spoke 
— "  so  far,  there  is  nothing  of  much  consequence.  The  letter 


172  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

certainly  seems  to  me  (between  ourselves)  to  be  written  in 
rather  poor  language — too  much  like  common  talking  to  come 
up  to  my  idea  of  what  a  lady's  style  of  composition  ought  to 
be — but  that  is  a  matter  of  opinion.  I  can't  say,  and  I  should 
be  the  last  person  to  wish  to  say,  that  the  beginning  of  Mrs. 
Frankland's  letter  is  not,  upon  the  whole,  perfectly  clear.  It 
is  the  middle  and  the  end  that  I  wish  to  consult  you  about, 
Mr.  Munder." 

"  Just  so,"  said  Mr.  Munder.  Only  two  words,  but  more 
meaning  in  them  than  two  hundred  in  the  mouth  of  an  ordi 
nary  man  !  The  housekeeper  cleared  her  throat  with  ex 
traordinary  loudness  and  elaboration,  and  read  on  thus : 

"  My  principal  object  in  writing  these  lines  is  to  request, 
by  Mr.  Frankland's  desire,  that  you  and  Mr.  Munder  will  en 
deavor  to  ascertain,  as  privately  as  possible,  whether  a  per 
son  now  traveling  in  Cornwall — in  whom  we  happen  to  be 
much  interested — has  been  yet  seen  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Porthgenna.  The  person  in  question  is  known  to  us  by  the 
name  of  Mrs.  Jazeph.  She  is  an  elderly  woman,  of  quiet,  lady 
like  manners,  looking  nervous  and  in  delicate  health.  She 
dresses,  according  to  our  experience  of  her,  with  extreme 
propriety  and  neatness,  and  in  dark  colors.  Her  eyes  have 
a  singular  expression  of  timidity,  her  voice  is  particularly 
soft  and  low,  and  her  manner  is  frequently  marked  by  ex 
treme  hesitation.  I  am  thus  particular  in  describing  her,  in 
case  she  should  not  be  traveling  under  the  name  by  which 
we  know  her. 

"  For  reasons  which  it  is  not  necessary  to  state,  both  my 
husband  and  myself  think  it  probable  that,  at  some  former 
period  of  her  life,  Mrs.  Jazeph  may  have  been  connected  with 
the  Porthgenna  neighborhood.  Whether  this  be  the  fact  or 
no,  it  is  indisputably  certain  that  she  is  familiar  with  the  in 
terior  of  Porthgenna  Tower,  and  that  she  has  an  interest  of 
some  kind,  quite  incomprehensible  to  us,  in  the  house.  Coup 
ling  these  facts  with  the  knowledge  we  have  of  her  being 
now  in  Cornwall,  we  think  it  just  within  the  range  of  possi 
bility  that  you  or  Mr.  Munder,  or  some  other  person  in  our 
employment,  may  meet  with  her ;  and  we  are  particularly 
anxious,  if  she  should  by  any  chance  ask  to  see  the  house, 
not  only  that  you  should  show  her  over  it  with  perfect  read- 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  173 

iness  and  civility,  but  also  that  you  should  take  private  and 
particular  notice  of  her  conduct  from  the  time  when  she  en 
ters  the  building  to  the  time  when  she  leaves  it.  Do  not  let 
her  out  of  your  sight  for  a  moment ;  and,  if  possible,  pray 
get  some  trustworthy  person  to  follow  her  unperceived,  and 
ascertain  where  she  goes  to  after  she  has  quitted  the  house. 
It  is  of  the  most  vital  importance  that  these  instructions 
(strange  as  they  may  seem  to  you)  should  be  implicitly 
obeyed  to  the  very  letter. 

"  I  have  only  room  and  time  to  add  that  we  know  nothing 
to  the  discredit  of  this  person,  and  that  we  particularly  de 
sire  you  will  manage  matters  with  sufficient  discretion  (in 
case  you  meet  with  her)  to  prevent  her  from  having  any  sus 
picion  that  you  are  acting  under  orders,  or  that  you  have  any 
especial  interest  in  watching  her  movements.  You  will  be 
good  enough  to  communicate  this  letter  to  the  steward,  and 
you  are  at  liberty  to  repeat  the  instructions  in  it  to  any  other 
trustworthy  person,  if  necessary. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  ROSAMOND  FRANKLAND. 

"P.S. — I  have  left  my  room,  and  the  baby  is  getting  on 
charmingly." 

"  There  !"  said  the  housekeeper.  "  Who  is  to  make  head 
or  tail  of  that,  I  should  like  to  know  !  Did  you  ever,  in  all 
your  experience,  Mr.  Munder,  meet  with  such  a  letter  before  ? 
Here  is  a  very  heavy  responsibility  laid  on  our  shoulders, 
without  one  word  of  explanation.  I  have  been  puzzling  my 
brains  about  what  their  interest  in  this  mysterious  woman 
can  be  the  whole  morning ;  and  the  more  I  think,  the  less 
comes  of  it.  What  is  your  opinion,  Mr.  Munder?  We  ought 
to  do  something  immediately.  Is  there  any  course  in  par 
ticular  which  you  feel  disposed  to  point  out  ?" 

Mr.  Munder  coughed  dubiously,  crossed  his  right  leg  over 
his  left,  put  his  head  critically  on  one  side,  coughed  for  the 
second  time,  and  looked  at  the  housekeeper.  If  it  had  be 
longed  to  any  other  man  in  the  world,  Mrs.  Pentreath  would 
have  considered  that  the  face  which  now  confronted  hers  ex 
pressed  nothing  but  the  most  profound  and  vacant  bewilder 
ment.  But  it  was  Mr.  Munder's  face,  and  it  was  only  to  be 
looked  at  with  sentiments  of  respectful  expectation. 


174  THE   DEAD   SECRET. 

"  I  rather  think — "  began  Mr.  Munder. 

"Yes?"  said  the  housekeeper,  eagerly. 

Before  another  word  could  be  spoken,  the  maid-servant 
entered  the  room  to  lay  the  cloth  for  Mrs.  Pentreath's  din 
ner. 

"There,  there!  never  mind  now,  Betsey,"  said  the  house 
keeper,  impatiently.  "  Don't  lay  the  cloth  till  I  ring  for  you. 
Mr.  Munder  and  I  have  something  very  important  to  talk 
about,  and  we  can't  be  interrupted  just  yet." 

She  had  hardly  said  the  word,  before  an  interruption  of  the 
most  unexpected  kind  happened.  The  door-bell  rang.  This 
was  a  very  unusual  occurrence  at  Porthgenna  Tower.  The 
few  persons  who  had  any  occasion  to  come  to  the  house  on 
domestic  business  always  entered  by  a  small  side  gate,  which 
was  left  on  the  latch  in  the  day-time. 

"  Who  in  the  world  can  that  be !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Pen- 
treath,  hastening  to  the  window,  which  commanded  a  side 
view  of  the  lower  door  steps. 

The  first  object  that  met  her  eye  when  she  looked  out  was 
a  lady  standing  on  the  lowest  step — a  lady  dressed  very 
neatly  in  quiet,  dark  colors. 

"  Good  Heavens,  Mr.  Munder !"  cried  the  housekeeper,  hur 
rying  back  to  the  table,  and  snatching  up  Mrs.  Frankland's 
letter,  which  she  had  left  on  it.  "  There  is  a  stranger  wait 
ing  at  the  door  at  this  very  moment !  a  lady  !  or,  at  least,  a 
woman — and  dressed  neatly,  dressed  in  dark  colors !  You 
might  knock  me  down,  Mr.  Munder,  with  a  feather !  Stop, 
Betsey — stop  where  you  are  !" 

"  I  was  only  going,  ma'am,  to  answer  the  door,"  said  Bet 
sey,  in  amazement. 

"  Stop  where  you  are,"  reiterated  Mrs.  Pentreath,  compos 
ing  herself  by  a  great  effort.  "  I  happen  to  have  certain  rea 
sons,  on  this  particular  occasion,  for  descending  out  of  my 
own  place  and  putting  myself  into  yours.  Stand  out  of  the 
I  way,  you  staring  fool !  I  am  going  up  stairs  to  answer  that 
;  ring  at  the  door  myself." 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  175 


CHAPTER  HI. 

INSIDE     THE     HOUSE. 

MRS.  PENTREATH'S  surprise  at  seeing  a  lady  through  the 
window,  was  doubled  by  her  amazement  at  seeing  a  gentle 
man  when  she  opened  the  door.  Waiting  close  to  the  bell- 
handle,  after  he  had  rung,  instead  of  rejoining  his  niece  on 
the  step,  Uncle  Joseph  stood  near  enough  to  the  house  to  be 
out  of  the  range  of  view  from  Mrs.  Pentreath's  window.  To 
the  housekeeper's  excited  imagination,  he  appeared  on  the 
threshold  with  the  suddenness  of  an  apparition — the  appari 
tion  of  a  little  rosy-faced  old  gentleman,  smiling,  bowing, 
and  taking  off  his  hat  with  a  superb  flourish  of  politeness, 
which  had  something  quite  superhuman  in  the  sweep  and  the 
dexterity  of  it. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  We  have  come  to  see  the  house,"  said 
Uncle  Joseph,  trying  his  infallible  expedient  for  gaining  ad 
mission  the  instant  the  door  was  open. 

Mrs.  Pentreath  was  struck  speechless.  Who  was  this  fa 
miliar  old  gentleman  with  the  foreign  accent  and  the  fantas 
tic  bow?  and  what  did  he  mean  by  talking  to  her  as  if  she 
was  his  intimate  friend  ?  Mrs.  Frankland's  letter  said  not  so 
much,  from  beginning  to  end,  as  one  word  about  him. 

"  How  do  you  do  ?  We  have  come  to  see  the  house,"  re 
peated  Uncle  Joseph,  giving  his  irresistible  form  of  saluta 
tion  the  benefit  of  a  second  trial. 

"So  you  said  just  now,  Sir,"  remarked  Mrs. Pentreath,  re 
covering  self-possession  enough  to  use  her  tongue  in  her  own 
defense.  "  Does  the  lady,"  she  continued,  looking  down  over 
the  old  man's  shoulder  at  the  step  on  which  his  niece  was 
standing — "  does  the  lady  wish  to  see  the  house  too  ?" 

Sarah's  gently  spoken  reply  in  the  affirmative,  short  as  it 
was,  convinced  the  housekeeper  that  the  woman  described 
in  Mrs.  Frankland's  letter  really  and  truly  stood  before  her. 
Besides  the  neat,  quiet  dress,  there  was  now  the  softly  toned 
voice,  and,  when  she  looked  up  for  a  moment,  there  were  the 
timid  eyes  also  to  identify  her  by !  In  relation  to  this  one 


176  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

of  the  two  strangers,  Mrs.  Pentreath,  however  agitated  and 
surprised  she  might  be,  could  no  longer  feel  any  uncertainty 
about  the  course  she  ought  to  adopt.  But  in  relation  to  the 
other  visitor,  the  incomprehensible  old  foreigner,  she  was  be 
set  by  the  most  bewildering  doubts.  Would  it  be  safest  to 
hold  to  the  letter  of  Mrs.  Frankland's  instructions,  and  ask 
him  to  wait  outside  while  the  lady  was  being  shown  over 
the  house  ?  or  would  it  be  best  to  act  on  her  own  responsi 
bility,  and  to  risk  giving  him  admission  as  well  as  his  com 
panion  ?  This  was  a  difficult  point  to  decide,  and  therefore 
one  which  it  was  necessary  to  submit  to  the  superior  sa 
gacity  of  Mr.  Munder. 

"  Will  you  step  in  for  a  moment,  and  wait  here  while  I 
speak  to  the  steward  ?"  said  Mrs.  Pentreath,  pointedly  neg 
lecting  to  notice  the  familiar  old  foreigner,  and  addressing 
herself  straight  through  him  to  the  lady  on  the  steps  be 
low. 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  said  Uncle  Joseph,  smiling  and 
bowing,  impervious  to  rebuke.  "  What  did  I  tell  you  ?"  he 
whispered  triumphantly  to  his  niece,  as  she  passed  him  on 
her  way  into  the  house. 

Mrs.  Pentreath's  first  impulse  was  to  go  down  stairs  at 
once,  and  speak  to  Mr.  Munder.  But  a  timely  recollection  of 
that  part  of  Mrs.  Frankland's  letter  which  enjoined  her  not 
to  lose  sight  of  the  lady  in  the  quiet  dress,  brought  her  to  a 
stand-still  the  next  moment.  She  was  the  more  easily  re 
called  to  a  remembrance  of  this  particular  injunction  by  a 
curious  alteration  in  the  conduct  of  the  lady  herself,  who 
seemed  to  lose  all  her  diffidence,  and  to  become  surprisingly 
impatient  to  lead  the  way  into  the  interior  of  the  house,  the 
moment  she  had  stepped  across  the  threshold. 

"  Betsey  !"  cried  Mrs.  Pentreath,  cautiously  calling  to  the 
servant  after  she  had  only  retired  a  few  paces  from  the  visit 
ors — "  Betsey !  ask  Mr.  Munder  to  be  so  kind  as  to  step  this 
way." 

Mr.  Munder  presented  himself  with  great  deliberation,  and 
with  a  certain  lowering  dignity  in  his  face.  He  had  been 
accustomed  to  be  treated  with  deference,  and  he  was  not 
pleased  with  the  housekeeper  for  unceremoniously  leaving 
him  the  moment  she  heard  the  ring  at  the  bell,  without  giv 
ing  him  time  to  pronounce  an  opinion  on  Mrs.  Frankland's 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  177 

letter.  Accordingly,  when  Mrs.  Pentreath,  in  a  high  state 
of  excitement,  drew  him  aside  out  of  hearing,  and  confided 
to  him,  in  a  whisper,  the  astounding  intelligence  that  the 
lady  in  whom  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Franklarid  were  so  mysteriously 
interested  was,  at  that  moment,  actually  standing  before 
him  in  the  house,  he  received  her  communication  with  an  air 
of  the  most  provoking  indifference.  It  was  worse  still  when 
she  proceeded  to  state  her  difficulties — warily  keeping  her 
eye  on  the  two  strangers  all  the  while.  Appeal  as  respect 
fully  as  she  might  to  Mr.  Munder's  superior  wisdom  for  guid 
ance,  he  persisted  in  listening  with  a  disparaging  frown,  and  / 
ended  by  irritably  contradicting  her  when  she  ventured  to 
add,  in  conclusion,  that  her  own  ideas  inclined  her  to  assume 
no  responsibility,  and  to  beg  the  foreign  gentleman  to  wait 
outside  while  the  lady,  in  conformity  with  Mrs.  Frankland's 
instructions,  was  being  shown  over  the  house. 

"  Such  may  be  your  opinion,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Munder,  se 
verely.  "  It  is  not  mine." 

The  housekeeper  looked  aghast.  "Perhaps,"  she  suggest 
ed,  deferentially, "  you  think  that  the  foreign  old  gentleman 
would  be  likely  to  insist  on  going  over  the  house  with  the 
lady  ?" 

"Of  course  I  think  so,"  said  Mr.  Munder.  (He  had  thought 
nothing  of  the  sort;  his  only  idea  just  then  being  the  idea  of 
asserting  his  own  supremacy  by  setting  himself  steadily  in 
opposition  to  any  preconceived  arrangements  of  Mrs.  Pen 
treath.) 

"Then  you  would  take  the  responsibility  of  showing  them 
both  over  the  house,  seeing  that  they  have  both  come  to  the 
door  together  ?"  asked  the  housekeeper. 

"  Of  course  I  would,"  answered  the  steward,  with  the 
promptitude  of  resolution  which  distinguishes  all  superior 
men. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Munder,  I  am  always  glad  to  be  guided  by  your 
opinion,  and  I  will  be  guided  by  it  now,"  said  Mrs.  Pentreath. 
"  But,  as  there  will  be  two  people  to  look  after — for  I  would 
not  trust  the  foreigner  out  of  sight  on  any  consideration 
whatever  —  I  must  really  beg  you  to  share  the  trouble  of 
showing  them  over  the  house  along  with  me.  I  am  so  ex 
cited  and  nervous  that  I  don't  feel  as  if  I  had  all  my  wits 
about  me — I  never  was  placed  in  such  a  position  as  this  be- 


178  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

fore — I  am  in  the  midst  of  mysteries  that  I  don't  understand 
— and,  in  short,  if  I  can't  count  on  your  assistance,  I  won't 
answer  for  it  that  I  shall  not  make  some  mistake.  I  should 
be  very  sorry  to  make  a  mistake,  not  only  on  my  own  ac 
count,  but — "  Here  the  housekeeper  stopped,  and  looked 
hard  at  Mr.  Munder. 

"  Go  on,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Munder,  with  cruel  composure. 

"  Not  only  on  my  own  account,"  resumed  Mrs.  Pentreath, 
demurely,  "  but  on  yours ;  for  Mrs.  Frankland's  letter  cer 
tainly  casts  the  responsibility  of  conducting  this  delicate  bus 
iness  on  your  shoulders  as  well  as  on  mine." 

Mr.  Munder  recoiled  a  few  steps,  turned  red,  opened  his 
lips  indignantly,  hesitated,  and  closed  them  again.  lie  was 
fairly  caught  in  a  trap  of  his  own  setting.  He  could  not  re 
treat  from  the  responsibility  of  directing  the  housekeeper's 
conduct,  the  moment  after  he  had  voluntarily  assumed  it ; 
and  he  could  not  deny  that  Mrs.  Frankland's  letter  positively 
and  repeatedly  referred  to  him  by  name.  There  was  only 
one  way  of  getting  out  of  the  difficulty  with  dignity,  and  Mr. 
Munder  unblushingly  took  that  way  the  moment  he  had  re 
covered  self-possession  enough  to  collect  himself  for  the  effort. 

"I  am  perfectly  amazed,  Mrs.  Pentreath,"  he  began,  with 
the  gravest  dignity.  "  Yes,  I  repeat,  I  am  perfectly  amazed 
that  you  should  think  me  capable  of  leaving  you  to  go  over 
the  house  alone,  under  such  remarkable  circumstances  as 
those  we  are  now  placed  in.  No,  ma'am  !  whatever  my  oth 
er  faults  may  be,  shrinking  from  my  share  of  responsibility 
is  not  one  of  them.  'I  don't  require  to  be  reminded  of  Mrs. 
Frankland's  letter ;  and — no  ! — I  don't  require  any  apologies. 
I  am  quite  ready,  ma'am — quite  ready  to  show  the  way  up 
stairs  whenever  you  are." 

"  The  sooner  the  better,  Mr.  Munder — for  there  is  that  au 
dacious  old  foreigner  actually  chattering  to  Betsey  now,  as 
if  he  had  known  her  all  his  life !" 

The  assertion  was  quite  true.  Uncle  Joseph  was  exercis 
ing  his  gift  of  familiarity  on  the  maid-servant  (who  had  lin 
gered  to  stare  at  the  strangers,  instead  of  going  back  to  the 
kitchen),  just  as  he  had  already  exercised  it  on  the  old  lady 
passenger  in  the  stage-coach,  and  on  the  driver  of  the  pony- 
chaise  which  took  his  niece  and  himself  to  the  post-town  of 
Porthgenna.  While  the  housekeeper  and  the  steward  were 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  179 

holding  their  private  conference,  he  was  keeping  Betsey  in 
ecstasies  of  suppressed  giggling  by  the  odd  questions  that  he 
asked  about  the  house,  and  about  how  she  got  on  with  her 
work  in  it.  His  inquiries  had  naturally  led  from  the  south 
side  of  the  building,  by  which  he  and  his  companion  had  en 
tered,  to  the  west  side,  which  they  were  shortly  to  explore ; 
and  thence  round  to  the  north  side,  which  was  forbidden 
ground  to  every  body  in  the  house.  When  Mrs.  Pentreath 
came  forward  with  the  steward,  she  overheard  this  exchange 
of  question  and  answer  passing  between  the  foreigner  and 
the  maid : 

"  But  tell  me,  Betzee,  my  dear,"  said  Uncle  Joseph.  "Why 
does  nobody  ever  go  into  these  mouldy  old  rooms?" 

"  Because  there's  a  ghost  in  them,"  answered  Betsey,  with 
a  burst  .of  laughter,  as  if  a  series  of  haunted  rooms  and  a  se 
ries  of  excellent  jokes  meant  precisely  the  same  thing. 

"  Hold  your  tongue  directly,  and  go  back  to  the  kitchen," 
cried  Mrs.  Pentreath,  indignantly.  "  The  ignorant  people 
about  here,"  she  continued,  still  pointedly  overlooking  Uncle 
Joseph,  and  addressing  herself  only  to  Sarah,  "  tell  absurd 
stories  about  some  old  rooms  on  the  unrepaired  side  of  the 
house,  which  have  not  been  inhabited  for  more  than  half  a 
century  past — absurd  stories  about  a  ghost;  and  my  servant 
is  foolish  enough  to  believe  them." 

"  No,  I'm  not,"  said  Betsey,  retiring,  under  protest,  to  the 
lower  regions.  "  I  don't  believe  a  word  about  the  ghost — at 
least  not  in  the  day-time."  Adding  that  important  saving 
clause  in  a  whisper,  Betsey  unwillingly  withdrew  from  the 
scene. 

Mrs.  Pentreath  observed,  with  some  surprise,  that  the  mys- ) 
terious  lady  in  the  quiet  dress  turned  very  pale  at  the  men 
tion  of  the  ghost  story,  and  made  no  remark  on  it  whatever.  I 
While  she  was  still  wondering  what  this  meant,  Mr.  Munder 
emerged  into  dignified  prominence,  and  loftily  addressed  him 
self,  not  to  Uncle  Joseph,  and  not  to  Sarah,  but  to  the  empty 
air  between  them. 

"  If  you  wish  to  see  the  house,"  he  said, "  you  will  have  the 
goodness  to  follow  me." 

With  those  words,  Mr.  Munder  turned  solemnly  into  the 
passage  that  led  to  the  foot  of  the  west  staircase,  walking 
with  that  peculiar,  slow  strut  in  which  all  serious-minded 


180  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

English  people  indulge  when  they  go  out  to  take  a  little  ex 
ercise  on  Sunday.  The  housekeeper,  adapting  her  pace  with 
feminine  pliancy  to  the  pace  of  the  steward,  walked  the  na 
tional  Sabbatarian  Polonaise  by  his  side,  as  if  she  was  out 
with  him  for  a  mouthful  of  fresh  air  between  the  services. 

"  As  I  am  a  living  sinner,  this  going  over  the  house  is  like 
going  to  a  funeral !"  whispered  Uncle  Joseph  to  his  niece. 
He  drew  her  arm  into  his,  and  felt,  as  he  did  so,  that  she  was 
trembling. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?"  he  asked,  under  his  breath. 

"  Uncle  !  there  is  something  unnatural  about  the  readiness 
of  these  people  to  show  us  over  the  house,"  was  the  faintly 
whispered  answer.  "  What  were  they  talking  about  just 
now,  out  of  our  hearing  ?  Why  did  that  woman  keep  her 
eyes  fixed  so  constantly  on  me  ?" 

Before  the  old  man  could  answer,  the  housekeeper  looked 
round,  and  begged,  with  the  severest  emphasis,  that  they 
would  be  good  enough  to  follow.  In  less  than  another  min 
ute  they  were  all  standing  at  the  foot  of  the  west  staircase. 

"  Aha  !"  cried  Uncle  Joseph,  as  easy  and  talkative  as  ever, 
even  in  the  presence  of  Mr.  Munder  himself.  "  A  fine  big 
house,  and  a  very  good  staircase." 

"  We  are  not  accustomed  to  hear  either  the  house  or  the 
staircase  spoken  of  in  these  terms,  Sir,"  said  Mr.  Munder,  re 
solving  to  nip  the  foreigner's  familiarity  in  the  bud.  "  The 
Guide  to  West  Cornwall,  which  you  would  have  done  well 
to  make  yourself  acquainted  with  before  you  came  here,  de 
scribes  Porthgenna  Tower  as  a  Mansion,  and  uses  the  word 
Spacious  in  speaking  of  the  west  staircase.  I  regret  to  find, 
Sir,  that  you  have  not  consulted  the  Guide-book  to  West 
Cornwall." 

"And  why?"  rejoined  the  unabashed  German.  "What 
do  I  want  with  a  book,  when  I  have  got  you  for  my  guide  ? 
Ah,  dear  Sir,  but  you  are  not  just  to  yourself!  Is  not  a 
living  guide  like  you,  who  talks  and  walks  about,  better  for 
me  than  dead  leaves  of  print  and  paper?  Ah,  no,  no  !  I  shall 
not  hear  another  word — I  shall  not  hear  you  do  any  more 
injustice  to  yourself."  Here  Uncle  Joseph  made  another  fan 
tastic  bow,  looked  up  smiling  into  the  steward's  face,  and 
shook  his  head  several  times  with  an  air  of  friendly  reproach. 

Mr.  Munder  felt  paralyzed.     He  could  not  have  been  treat- 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  181 

ed  with  more  ease  and  indifferent  familiarity  if  this  obscure 
foreign  stranger  had  been  an  English  duke.  He  had  often 
heard  of  the  climax  of  audacity ;  and  here  it  was  visibly  em 
bodied  in  one  small,  elderly  individual,  who  did  not  rise  quite 
five  feet  from  the  ground  he  stood  on  ! 

While  the  steward  was  swelling  with  a  sense  of  injury  too 
large  for  utterance,  the  housekeeper,  followed  by  Sarah,  was 
slowly  ascending  the  stairs.  Uncle  Joseph,  seeing  them  go 
up,  hastened  to  join  his  niece,  and  Mr.  Munder,  after  waiting 
a  little  while  on  the  mat  to  recover  himself,  followed  the  au 
dacious  foreigner  with  the  intention  of  watching  his  conduct 
narrowly,  and  chastising  his  insolence  at  the  first  opportunity 
with  stinging  words  of  rebuke. 

The  procession  up  the  stairs  thus  formed  was  not,  however, 
closed  by  the  steward ;  it  was  further  adorned  and  completed 
by  Betsey,  the  servant-maid,  who  stole  out  of  the  kitchen  to 
follow  the  strange  visitors  over  the  house,  as  closely  as  she 
could  without  attracting  the  notice  of  Mrs.Pentreath.  Bet 
sey  had  her  share  of  natural  human  curiosity  and  love  of 
change.  No  such  event  as  the  arrival  of  strangers  had  ever 
before  enlivened  the  dreary  monotony  of  Porthgenna  Tower 
within  her  experience;  and  she  was  resolved  not  to  stay  alone 
in  the  kitchen"  while  there  was  a  chance  of  hearing  a  stray 
word  of  the  conversation,  or  catching  a  chance  glimpse  of 
the  proceedings  among  the  company  up  stairs. 

In  the  mean  time  the  housekeeper  had  led  the  way  as  far 
as  the  first-floor  landing,  on  either  side  of  which  the  principal 
rooms  in  the  west  front  were  situated.  Sharpened  by  fear 
and  suspicion,  Sarah's  eyes  immediately  detected  the  repairs 
which  had  been  effected  in  the  banisters  and  stairs  of  the 
second  flight. 

"  You  have  had  workmen  in  the  house  ?"  she  said  quickly 
to  Mrs.  Pentreath. 

"  You  mean  on  the  stairs  ?"  returned  the  housekeeper. 
"Yes,  we  have  had  workmen  there." 

"And  nowhere  else?" 

"  No.  But  they  are  wanted  in  other  places  badly  enough. 
Even  here,  on  the  best  side  of  the  house,  half  the  bedrooms 
up  stairs  are  hardly  fit  to  sleep  in.  They  were  any  thing  but 
comfortable,  as  I  have  heard,  even  in  the  late  Mrs.  Trever- 
ton's  time ;  and  since  she  died — " 


182  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

The  housekeeper  stopped  with  a  frown  and  a  look  of  sur 
prise.  The  lady  in  the  quiet  dress,  instead  of  sustaining  the 
reputation  for  good  manners  which  had  been  conferred  on 
her  in  Mrs.  Frankland's  letter,  was  guilty  of  the  unpardona 
ble  discourtesy  of  turning  away  from  Mrs.  Pentreath  before 
she  had  done  speaking.  Determined  not  to  allow  herself  to 
be  impertinently  silenced  in  that  way,  she  coldly  and  dis 
tinctly  repeated  her  last  words — 

"  And  since  Mrs.  Treverton  died — " 

She  was  interrupted  for  the  second  time.  The  strange  lady, 
turning  quickly  round  again,  confronted  her  with  a  very  pale 
face  and  a  very  eager  look,  and  asked,  in  the  most  abrupt 
manner,  an  utterly  irrelevant  question  : 

"  Tell  me  about  that  ghost  story,"  she  said.  "  Do  they  say 
it  is  the  ghost  of  a  man  or  of  a  woman  ?" 

"I  was  speaking  of  the  late  Mrs.  Treverton,"  said  the 
housekeeper,  in  her  severest  tones  of  reproof,  "  and  not  of 
the  ghost  story  about  the  north  rooms.  You  would  have 
known  that,  if  you  had  done  me  the  favor  to  listen  to  what 
I  said." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon ;  I  beg  your  pardon  a  thousand  times 
for  seeming  inattentive '  It  struck  me  just  then — or,  at  least, 
I  wanted  to  know — ': 

"If  you  care  to  know  about  any  thing  so  absurd,"  said 
Mrs.  Pentreath,  mollified  by  the  evident  sincerity  of  the  apol 
ogy  that  had  been  offered  to  her,  "  the  ghost,  according  to 
the  story,  is  the  ghost  of  a  woman." 

The  strange  lady's  face  grew  whiter  than  ever ;  and  she 
turned  away  once  more  to  the  open  window  on  the  landing. 

"How  hot  it  is !"  she  said,  putting  her  head  out  into  the 
air. 

"  Hot,  with  a  northeast  wind !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Pentreath, 
in  amazement. 

Here  Uncle  Joseph  came  forward  with  a  polite  request  to 
know  when  they  were  going  to  look  over  the  rooms.  For 
the  last  few  minutes  he  had  been  asking  all  sorts  of  questions 
of  Mr.  Munder;  and,  having  received  no  answers  which 
were  not  of  the  shortest  and  most  ungracious  kind,  had  given 
up  talking  to  the  steward  in  despair. 

Mrs.  Pentreath  prepared  to  lead  the  way  into  the  breakfast- 
room,  library,  and  drawing-room.  All  three  communicated 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  183 

with  each  other,  and  each  room  had  a  second  door  opening 
on  a  long  passage,  the  entrance  to  which  was  on  the  right- 
hand  side  of  the  first-floor  landing.  Before  leading  the  way 
into  these  rooms,  the  housekeeper  touched  Sarah  on  the 
shoulder  to  intimate  that  it  was  time  to  be  moving  on. 

"  As  for  the  ghost  story,"  resumed  Mrs.  Pentreath,  while 
she  opened  the  breakfast-room  door,  "  you  must  apply  to  the 
ignorant  people  who  believe  in  it,  if  you  want  to  hear  it  all 
told.  Whether  the  ghost  is  an  old  ghost  or  a  new  ghost, 
and  why  she  is  supposed  to  walk,  is  more  than  I  can  tell 
you."  In  spite  of  the  housekeeper's  affectation  of  indiffer 
ence  toward  the  popular  superstition,  she  had  heard  enough 
of  the  ghost-story  to  frighten  her,  though  she  would  not  con 
fess  it.  Inside  the  house,  or  outside  the  house,  nobody 
much  less  willing  to  venture  into  the  north  rooms  alone 
could  in  real  truth  have  been  found  than  Mrs.  Pentreath  her 
self. 

While  the  housekeeper  was  drawing  up  the  blinds  in  the 
breakfast-parlor,  and  while  Mr.  Munder  was  opening  the  door 
that  led  out  of  it  into  the  library,  Uncle  Joseph  stole  to  his 
niece's  side,  and  spoke  a  few  words  of  encouragement  to  her 
in  his  quaint,  kindly  way. 

"  Courage  !"  he  whispered.  "  Keep  your  wits  about  you, 
Sarah,  and  catch  your  little  opportunity  whenever  you  can." 

"My  thoughts  !  My  thoughts  !"  she  answered  in  the  same 
low  key.  "  This  house  rouses  them  all  against  me.  Oh,  why 
did  I  ever  venture  into  it  again  !" 

"  You  had  better  look  at  the  view  from  the  window  now," 
said  Mrs.  Pentreath,  after  she  had  drawn  up  the  blind.  "  It 
is  very  much  admired." 

While  affairs  were  in  this  stage  of  progress  on  the  first 
floor  of  the  house,  Betsey,  who  had  been  hitherto  stealing  up 
by  a  stair  at  a  time  from  the  hall,  and  listening  with  all  her 
ears  in  the  intervals  of  the  ascent,  finding  that  no  sound  of 
voices  now  reached  her,  bethought  herself  of  returning  to  the 
kitchen  again,  and  of  looking  after  the  housekeeper's  dinner, 
which  was  being  kept  warm  by  the  fire.  She  descended  to 
the  lower  regions,  wondering  what  part  of  the  house  the 
strangers  would  want  to  see  next,  and  puzzling  her  brains  to 
find  out  some  excuse  for  attaching  herself  to  the  exploring 
party. 


184  THE    DEAD    SECKET. 

After  the  view  from  the  breakfast-room  window  had  been 
duly  contemplated,  the  library  was  next  entered.  In  this 
room,  Mrs.  Pentreath,  having  some  leisure  to  look  about  her, 
and  employing  that  leisure  in  observing  the  conduct  of  the 
steward,  arrived  at  the  unpleasant  conviction  that  Mr.  Mun- 
der  was  by  no  means  to  be  depended  on  to  assist  her  in  the 
important  business  of  watching  the  proceedings  of  the  two 
strangers.  Doubly  stimulated  to  assert  his  own  dignity  by 
the  disrespectfully  easy  manner  in  which  he  had  been  treated 
by  Uncle  Joseph,  the  sole  object  of  Mr.  Munder's  ambition 
seemed  to  be  to  divest  himself  as  completely  as  possible  of 
the  character  of  guide,  which  the  unscrupulous  foreigner 
sought  to  confer  on  him.  Pie  sauntered  heavily  about  the 
rooms,  with  the  air  of  a  casual  visitor,  staring  out  of  window, 
peeping  into  books  on  tables,  frowning  at  himself  in  the  chim 
ney-glasses — looking,  in  short,  any  where  but  where  he  ought 
to  look.  The  housekeeper,  exasperated  by  this  affectation 
of  indifference,  whispered  to  him  irritably  to  keep  his  eye  on 
the  foreigner,  as  it  was  quite  as  much  as  she  could  do  to  look 
after  the  lady  in  the  quiet  dress. 

"  Very  good ;  very  good,"  said  Mr.  Munder,  with  sulky 
carelessness.  "And  where  are  you  going  to  next,  ma'am, 
after  we  have  been  into  the  drawing-room?  Back  again, 
through  the  library,  into  the  breakfast-room  ?  or  out  at  once 
into  the  passage  ?  Be  good  enough  to  settle  which,  as  you 
seem  to  be  in  the  way  of  settling  every  thing." 

"  Into  the  passage,  to  be  sure,"  answered  Mrs.  Pentreath, 
"  to  show  the  next  three  rooms  beyond  these." 

Mr.  Munder  sauntered  out  of  the  library,  through  the  door 
way  of  communication,  into  the  drawing-room,  unlocked  the 
door  leading  into  the  passage — then,  to  the  great  disgust  of 
the  housekeeper,  strolled  to  the  fire-place,  and  looked  at  him 
self  in  the  glass  over  it,  just  as  attentively  as  he  had  looked 
at  himself  in  the  library  mirror  hardly  a  minute  before. 

"  This  is  the  west  drawing-room,"  said  Mrs.  Pentreath, 
calling  to  the  visitors.  "  The  carving  of  the  stone  chimney- 
piece,"  she  added,  with  the  mischievous  intention  of  bringing 
them  into  the  closest  proximity  to  the  steward,  "  is  consid 
ered  the  finest  thing  in  the  whole  apartment." 

Driven  from  the  looking-glass  by  this  manoauvre,  Mr.  Mun 
der  provokingly  sauntered  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 


THE    DEAD   SECKET.  185 

Sarah,  still  pale  and  silent — but  with  a  certain  unwonted 
resolution  just  gathering,  as  it  were,  in  the  lines  about  her 
lips — stopped  thoughtfully  by  the  chimney-piece  when  the 
housekeeper  pointed  it  out  to  her.     Uncle  Joseph,  looking 
all  round  the  room  in  his  discursive  manner,  spied,  in  the 
farthest  corner  of  it  from  the  door  that  led  into  the  passage, 
a  beautiful  maple-wood  table  and  cabinet,  of  a  very  peculiar 
pattern.    His  workmanlike  enthusiasm  was  instantly  aroused, 
and  he  darted  across  the  room  to  examine  the  make  of  the 
cabinet  closely.     The  table  beneath  projected  a  little  way  ( 
in  front  of  it,  and,  of  all  the  objects  in  the  world,  what  should  \ 
he  see  reposing  on  the  flat  space  of  the  projection  but  a    / 
magnificent  musical  box  at  least  three  times  the  size  of  his   ; 
own  ! 

"  Aie !  A'ie ! !  Aie  ! ! !"  cried  Uncle  Joseph,  in  an  ascending 
scale  of  admiration,  which  ended  at  the  very  top  of  his  voice. 
"  Open  him !  set  him  going !  let  me  hear  what  he  plays  !" 
lie  stopped  for  want  of  words  to  express  his  impatience,  and 
drummed  with  both  hands  on  the  lid  of  the  musical  box  in  ( 
a  burst  of  uncontrollable  enthusiasm. 

"  Mr.  Munder !"  exclaimed  the  housekeeper,  hurrying 
across  the  room  in  great  indignation.  "Why  don't  you 
look  ?  why  don't  you  stop  him  ?  He's  breaking  open  the 
musical  box.  Be  quiet,  Sir  !  How  dare  you  touch  me  ?" 

"  Set  him  going  !  set  him  going  !"  reiterated  Uncle  Joseph, 
dropping  Mrs.  Pentreath's  arm,  which  he  had  seized  in  his 
agitation.  "  Look  here  !  this  by  my  side  is  a  music  box  too ! 
Set  him  going !  Does  he  play  Mozart  ?  He  is  three  times 
bigger  than  ever  I  saw  !  See  !  see!  this  box  of  mine — this 
tiny  bit  of  box  that  looks  nothing  by  the  side  of  yours — it 
was  given  to  my  own  brother  by  the  king  of  all  music-com 
posers  that  ever  lived,  by  the  divine  Mozart  himself.  Set 
the  big  box  going,  and  you  shall  hear  the  little  baby-box 
pipe  after  !  Ah,  dear  and  good  madam,  if  you  love  me — 

"Sir  ! ! !"  exclaimed  the  housekeeper,  reddening  with  virtu 
ous  indignation  to  the  very  roots  of  her  hair. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Sir,  by  addressing  such  outrageous 
language  as  that  to  a  respectable  female  ?"  inquired  Mr.  Mun 
der,  approaching  to  the  rescue.  "Do  you  think  we  want 
your  foreign  noises,  and  your  foreign  morals,  and  your  for 
eign  profanity  here?  Yes,  Sir!  profanity.  Any  man  who 


186  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

calls  any  human  individual,  whether  musical  or  otherwise, 
*  divine,'  is  a  profane  man.  Who  are  you,  you  extremely  au 
dacious  person  ?  Are  you  an  infidel  ?" 

Before  Uncle  Joseph  could  say  a  word  in  vindication  of 
his  principles,  before  Mr.  Munder  could  relieve  himself  of 
any  more  indignation,  they  were  both  startled  into  moment 
ary  silence  by  an  exclamation  of  alarm  from  the  house 
keeper. 

"Where  is  she?"  cried  Mrs.  Pentreath,  standing  in  the 
middle  of  the  drawing-room,  and  looking  with  bewildered 
eyes  all  around  her. 

The  lady  in  the  quiet  dress  had  vanished. 

She  was  not  in  the  library,  not  in  the  breakfast-room,  not 
in  the  passage  outside.  After  searching  in  those  three  places, 
the  housekeeper  came  back  to  Mr.  Munder  with  a  look  of 
downright  terror  in  her  face,  and  stood  staring  at  him  for  a 
moment  perfectly  helpless  and  perfectly  silent.  As  soon  as 
she  recovered  herself  she  turned  fiercely  on  Uncle  Joseph. 

"  Where  is  she?  I  insist  on  knowing  what  has  become  of 
her!  You  cunning,  wicked,  impudent  old  man!  where  is 
she  ?"  cried  Mrs.  Pentreath,  with  no  color  in  her  cheeks  and 
no  mercy  in  her  eyes. 

"I  suppose  she  is  looking  about  the  house  by  herself," 
said  Uncle  Joseph.  "We  shall  find  her  surely  as  we  take 
'our  walks  through  the  other  rooms."  Simple  as  he  was,  the 
old  man  had,  nevertheless,  acuteness  enough  to  perceive  that 
he  had  accidentally  rendered  the  very  service  to  his  niece  of 
which  she  stood  in  need.  If  he  had  been  the  most  artful  of 
mankind,  he  could  have  devised  no  better  means  of  diverting 
Mrs.  Pentreath's  attention  from  Sarah  to  himself  than  the 
very  means  which  he  had  just  used  in  perfect  innocence,  at 
the  very  moment  when  his  thoughts  were  farthest  away 
from  the  real  object  with  which  he  and  his  niece  had  entered 
the  house.  "  So !  so !"  thought  Uncle  Joseph  to  himself, 
"  while  these  two  angry  people  were  scolding  me  for  noth 
ing,  Sarah  has  slipped  away  to  the  room  where  the  letter  is. 
Good  !  I  have  only  to  wait  till  she  comes  back,  and  to  let 
the  two  angry  people  go  on  scolding  me  as  long  as  they 
please." 

"  What  are  we  to  do  ?  Mr.  Munder  !  what  on  earth  are 
we  to  do  ?"  asked  the  housekeeper.  "  We  can't  waste  the 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  187 

precious  minutes  staring  at  each  other  here.  This  woman 
must  be  found.  Stop  !  she  asked  questions  about  the  stairs 
—she  looked  up  at  the  second  floor  the  moment  we  got  on 
the  landing.  Mr.  Munder  !  wait  here,  and  don't  let  that  for 
eigner  out  of  your  sight  for  a  moment.  Wait  here  while  I 
run  up  and  look  into  the  second-floor  passage.  All  the  bed 
room  doors  are  locked — I  defy  her  to  hide  herself  if  she  has 
gone  up  there."  With  those  words,  the  housekeeper  ran  out 
of  the  drawing-room,  and  breathlessly  ascended  the  second 
flight  of  stairs. 

While  Mrs.  Pentreath  was  searching  on  the  west  side  of 
the  house,  Sarah  was  hurrying,  at  the  top  of  her  speed,  along 
the  lonely  passages  that  led  to  the  north  rooms. 

Terrified  into  decisive  action  by  the  desperate  nature  of 
the  situation,  she  had  slipped  out  of  the  drawing-room  into 
the  passage  the  instant  she  saw  Mrs.  Pentreath's  back  turned 
on  her.  Without  stopping  to  think,  without  attempting  to 
compose  herself,  she  ran  down  the  stairs  of  the  first  floor, 
and  made  straight  for  the  housekeeper's  room.  She  had  no 
excuses  ready,  if  she  had  found  any  body  there,  or  if  she  had 
met  any  body  on  the  way.  She  had  formed  no  plan  where 
to  seek  for  them  next,  if  the  keys  of  the  north  rooms  were 
not  hanging  in  the  place  where  she  still  expected  to  find 
them.  Her  mind  was  lost  in  confusion,  her  temples  throb 
bed  as  if  they  would  burst  with  the  heat  at  her  brain.  The 
one  blind,  wild,  headlong  purpose  of  getting  into  the  Myrtle 
Room  drove  her  on,  gave  unnatural  swiftness  to  her  trem 
bling  feet,  unnatural  strength  to  her  shaking  hands,  unnatu 
ral  courage  to  her  sinking  heart. 

She  ran  into  the  housekeeper's  room,  without  even  the  or 
dinary  caution  of  waiting  for  a  moment  to  listen  outside  the 
door.  No  one  was  there.  One  glance  at  the  well-remem 
bered  nail  in  the  wall  showed  her  the  keys  still  hanging  to 
it  in  a  bunch,  as  they  had  hung  in  the  long-past  time.  She 
had  them  in  her  possession  in  a  moment ;  and  was  away 
again,  along  the  solitary  passages  that  led  to  the  north 
rooms,  threading  their  turnings  and  windings  as  if  she  had 
left  them  but  the  day  before ;  never  pausing  to  listen  or  to 
look  behind  her,  never  slackening  her  speed  till  she  was  at 
the  top  of  the  back  staircase,  and  had  her  hand  on  the  locked 
door  that  led  into  the  north  hall. 


188  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

As  she  turned  over  the  bunch  to  find  the  first  key  that 
was  required,  she  discovered — what  her  hurry  had  hitherto 
prevented  her  from  noticing  —  the  numbered  labels  which 
the  builder  had  methodically  attached  to  all  the  keys  when 
he  had  been  sent  to  Porthgenna  by  Mr.  Frankland  to  survey 
the  house.  At  the  first  sight  of  them,  her  searching  hand" 
paused  in  their  work  instantaneously,  and  she  shivered  all 
over,  as  if  a  sudden  chill  had  struck  her. 

If  she  had  been  less  violently  agitated,  the  discovery  of 
the  new  labels  and  the  suspicious  to  which  the  sight  of  them 
instantly  gave  rise  would,  in  all  probability,  have  checked 
her  further  progress.  But  the  confusion  of  her  mind  was 
now  too  great  to  allow  her  to  piece  together  even  the  veri 
est  fragments  of  thoughts.  Vaguely  conscious  of  a  new  ter 
ror,  of  a  sharpened  distrust  that  doubled  and  trebled  the 
headlong  impatience  which  had  driven  her  on  thus  far,  she 
desperately  resumed  her  search  through  the  bunch  of  keys. 

One  of  them  had  no  label ;  it  was  larger  than  the  rest — it 
was  the  key  that  fitted  the  door  of  communication  before 
which  she  stood.  She  turned  it  in  the  rusty  lock  with  a 
strength  which,  at  any  other  time,  she  would  have  been  ut 
terly  incapable  of  exerting  ;  she  opened  the  door  with  a  blow 
of  her  hand,  which  burst  it  away  at  one  stroke  from  the 
jambs  to  which  it  stuck.  Panting  for  breath,  she  flew  across 
the  forsaken  north  hall,  without  stopping  for  one  second  to 
push  the  door  to  behind  her.  The  creeping  creatures,  the 
noisome  house  -  reptiles  that  possessed  the  place,  crawled 
away,  shadow-like,  on  either  side  of  her  toward  the  Avails. 
She  never  noticed  them,  never  turned  away  for  them.  Across 
the  hall,  and  up  the  stairs  at  the  end  of  it,  she  ran,  till  she 
gained  the  open  "landing  at  the  top — and  there  she  suddenly 
checked  herself  in  front  of  the  first  door. 

The  first  door  of  the  long  range  of  rooms  that  opened  on 
the  landing  ;  the  door  that  fronted  the  topmost  of  the  flight 
of  stairs.  She  stopped;  she  looked  at  it  —  it  was  not  the 
door  she  had  come  to  open ;  and  yet  she  could  not  tear  her 
self  away  from  it.  Scrawled  on  the  panel  in  white  chalk 
was  the  figure — "  I."  And  when  she  looked  down  at  the 
bunch  of  keys  in  her  hands,  there  was  the  figure  "  I."  on  a 
label,  answering  to  it. 

She  tried  to  think,  to  follow  out  any  one  of  all  the  throng- 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  189 

ing  suspicions  that  beset  her  to  the  conclusion  at  which  it 
might  point.  The  effort  was  useless ;  her  mind  was  gone ; 
her  bodily  senses  of  seeing  and  hearing — senses  which  had 
now  become  painfully  and  incomprehensibly  sharpened— 
seemed  to  be  the  sole  relics  of  intelligence  that  she  had  left 
to  guide  her.  She  put  her  hand  over  her  eyes,  and  waited  a 
little  so,  and  then  went  on  slowly  along  the  landing,  looking 
at  the  doors. 

No.  "II.,"  No.  "III.,"  No.  "IV.,"  traced  on  the  panels  in 
the  same  white  chalk,  and  answering  to  the  numbered  labels 
on  the  keys,  the  figures  on  which  were  written  in  ink.  No. 
"IV."  the  middle  room  of  the  first  floor  range  of  eight.  She 
stopped  there  again,  trembling  from  head  to  foot.  It  was 
the  door  of  the  Myrtle  Room. 

Did  the  chalked  numbers  stop  there?  She  looked  on 
down  the  landing.  No.  The  four  doors  remaining  were 
regularly  numbered  on  to  "  VIII." 

She  came  back  again  to  the  door  of  the  Myrtle  Room, 
sought  out  the  key  labeled  with  the  figure  "IV."  —  hes 
itated  —  and  looked  back  distrustfully  over  the  deserted 
hall. 

The  canvases  of  the  old  family  pictures,  which  she  had 
seen  bulging  out  of  their  frames  in  the  past  time  when  she 
hid  the  letter,  had,  for  the  most  part,  rotted  away  from  them 
now,  and  lay  in  great  black  ragged  strips  on  the  floor  of 
the  hall.  Islands  and  continents  of  damp  spread  like  the 
map  of  some  strange  region  over  the  lofty  vaulted  ceiling. 
Cobwebs,  heavy  with  dust,  hung  down  in  festoons  from 
broken  cornices.  Dirt  stains  lay  on  the  stone  pavement,  like 
gross  reflections  of  the  damp  stains  on  the  ceiling.  The 
broad  flight  of  stairs  leading  up  to  the  open  landing  before 
the  rooms  of  the  first  floor  had  sunk  down  bodily  toward 
one  side.  The  banisters  which  protected  the  outer  edge  of 
the  landing  were  broken  away  into  ragged  gaps.  The  light 
of  day  was  stained,  the  air  of  heaven  was  stilled,  the  sounds 
of  earth  were  silenced  in  the  north  hall. 

Silenced  ?  Were  all  sounds  silenced  ?  Or  was  there  some 
thing  stirring  that  just  touched  the  sense  of  hearing,  that 
just  deepened  the  dismal  stillness,  and  no  more  ? 

Sarah  listened,  keeping  her  face  still  set  toward  the  hall — 
listened,  and  heard  a  faint  sound  behind  her.  Was  it  out- 


190  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

side  the  door  on  which  her  back  was  turned  ?  Or  was  it  in 
side — in  the  Myrtle  Room  ? 

Inside.  With  the  first  conviction  of  that,  all  thought,  all 
sensation  left  her.  She  forgot  the  suspicious  numbering  of 
the  doors;  she  became  insensible  to  the  lapse  of  time,  uncon 
scious  of  the  risk  of  discovery.  All  exercise  of  her  other  fac 
ulties  was  now  merged  in  the  exercise  of  the  one  faculty  of 
listening. 

It  was  a  still,  faint,  stealthily  rustling  sound ;  and  it  moved 
to  and  fro  at  intervals,  to  and  fro  softly,  now  at  one  end,  now 
at  the  other  of  the  Myrtle  Room.  There  were  moments 
when  it  grew  suddenly  distinct — other  moments  when  it 
died  away  in  gradations  too  light  to  follow.  Sometimes  it 
seemed  to  sweep  over  the  floor  at  a  bound — sometimes  it 
crept  with  slow,  continuous  rustlings  that  just  wavered  on 
the  verge  of  absolute  silence. 

Her  feet  still  rooted  to  the  spot  on  which  she  stood,  Sarah 
turned  her  head  slowly,  inch  by  inch,  toward  the  door  of  the 
Myrtle  Room.  A  moment  before,  while  she  was  as  yet  un 
conscious  of  the  faint  sound  moving  to  and  fro  within  it, 
she  had  been  drawing  her  breath  heavily  and  quickly.  She 
might  have  been  dead  now,  her  bosom  was  so  still,  her  breath 
ing  so  noiseless.  The  same  mysterious  change  came  over 
her  face  which  had  altered  it  when  the  darkness  began  to 
gather  in  the  little  parlor  at  Truro.  The  same  fearful  look 
of  inquiry  which  she  had  then  fixed  on  the  vacant  corner  of 
the  room  was  in  her  eyes  now,  as  they  slowly  turned  on  the 
door. 

"Mistress!"  she  whispered.  "Am  I  too  late?  Are  you 
there  before  me?" 

The  stealthily  rustling  sound  inside  paused — renewed  itself 
— died  away  again  faintly ;  away  at  the  lower  end  of  the 
room. 

Her  eyes  still  remained  fixed  on  the  Myrtle  Room,  strained, 
and  opened  wider  and  wider — opened  as  if  they  would  look 
through  the  very  door  itself — opened  as  if  they  were  watch 
ing  for  the  opaque  wood  to  turn  transparent,  and  show  what 
was  behind  it. 

"  Over  the  lonesome  floor,  over  the  lonesome  floor — how 
light  it  moves  !"  she  whispered  again.  "Mistress  !  does  the 
black  dress  I  made  for  you  rustle  no  louder  than  that  ?" 


THE    DEAD   SECKET.  191 

The  sound  stopped  again — then  suddenly  advanced  at  one  j 
stealthy  sweep  close  to  the  inside  of  the  door. 

If  she  could  have  moved  at  that  moment ;  if  she  could  have ; 
looked  down  to  the  line  of  open  space  between  the  bottom  of 
the  door  and  the  flooring  below,  when  the  faintly  rustling  ; 
sound  came  nearest  to  her,  she  might  have  seen  the  insignin'-  , 
cant  cause  that  produced  it  lying  self-betrayed  under  the  ' 
door,  partly  outside,  partly  inside,  in  the  shape  of  a  fragment 
of  faded  red  paper  from  the  wall  of  the  Myrtle  Koom.     Time 
and  damp  had  loosened  the  paper  all  round  the  apartment. 
Two  or  three  yards  of  it  had  been  torn  off  by  the  builder 
while  he  was  examining  the  walls — sometimes  in  large  pieces, 
sometimes  in  small  pieces,  just  as  it  happened  to  come  away 
— and  had  been  thrown  down  by  him  on  the  bare,  boarded 
floor,  to  become  the  sport  of  the  wind,  whenever  it  happened 
to  blow  through  the  broken  panes  of  glass  in  the  window.  \ 
If  she  had  only  moved !     If  she  had  only  looked  down  for 
one  little  second  of  time  ! 

She  was  past  moving  and  past  looking :  the  paroxysm  of 
superstitious  horror  that  possessed  her  held  her  still  in  every  1 
limb  and  every  feature.     She  never  started,  she  uttered  no 
cry,  when  the  rustling  noise  came  nearest.     The  one  outward 
sign  which  showed  how  the  terror  of  its  approach  shook  her 
to  the  very  soul  expressed  itself  only  in  the  changed  action 
of  her  right  hand,  in  which  she  still  held  the  keys.     At  the 
instant  when  the  wind  wafted  the  fragment  of  paper  closest 
to  the  door,  her  fingers  lost  their  power  of  contraction,  and 
became  as  nerveless  and  helpless  as  if  she  had  fainted.     The 
heavy  bunch  of  keys  slipped  from  her  suddenly  loosened 
grasp,  dropped  at  her  side  on  the  outer  edge  of  the  landing, 
rolled  off  through  a  gap  in  the  broken  banister,  and  fell  on  ' 
the  stone  pavement  below,  with  a  crash  which  made  the  \ 
sleeping  echoes  shriek  again,  as  if  they  were  sentient  beings  j 
writhing  under  the  torture  of  sound  ! 

*  The  crash  of  the  falling  keys,  ringing  and  ringing  again 
through  the  stillness,  woke  her,  as  it  were,  to  instant  con 
sciousness  of  present  events  and  present  perils.  She  started, 
staggered  backward,  and  raised  both  her  hands  wildly  to  her 
head — paused  so  for  a  few  seconds — then  made  for  the  top 
of  the  stairs  with  the  purpose  of  descending  into  the  hall  to 
recover  the  keys. 

12 


192  THE    DEAD   SECEET. 

Before  she  had  advanced  three  paces  the  shrill  sound  of  a 
woman's  scream  came  from  the  door  of  communication  at 
the  opposite  end  of  the  hall.  The  scream  was  twice  repeated 
at  a  greater  distance  off,  and  was  followed  by  a  confused 
noise  of  rapidly  advancing  voices  and  footsteps. 

She  staggered  desperately  a  few  paces  farther,  and  reached 
the  first  of  the  row  of  doors  that  opened  on  the  landing. 
There  nature  sank  exhausted:  her  knees  gave  way  under 
her — her  breath,  her  sight,  her  hearing  all  seemed  to  fail  her 
together  at  the  same  instant — and  she  dropped  down  sense 
less  on  the  floor  at  the  head  of  the  stairs. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

ME.  MUNDEE  OX  THE  SEAT  OF  JUDGMENT. 

THE  murmuring  voices  and  the  hurrying  footsteps  came 
nearer  and  nearer,  then  stopped  altogether.  After  an  inter 
val  of  silence,  one  voice  called  out  loudly,  "  Sarah  !  Sarah ! 
where  are  you  ?"  and  the  next  instant  Uncle  Joseph  appeared 
alone  in  the  door-way  that  led  into  the  north  hall,  looking 
eagerly  all  round  him. 

At  first  the  prostrate  figure  on  the  landing  at  the  head  of 
the  stairs  escaped  his  view.  But  the  second  time  he  looked 
in  that  direction  the  dark  dress,  and  the  arm  that  lay  just 
over  the  edge  of  the  top  stair,  caught  his  eye.  With  a  loud 
cry  of  terror  and  recognition,  he  flew  across  the  hall  and  as 
cended  the  stairs.  Just  as  he  was  kneeling  by  Sarah's  side, 
and  raising  her  head  on  his  arm,  the  steward,  the  housekeeper, 
and  the  maid,  all  three  crowded  together  after  him  into  the 
.door- way. 

"  Water !"  shouted  the  old  man,  gesticulating  at  them 
wildly  with  his  disengaged  hand.  "  She  is  here — she  has 
fallen  down — she  is  in  a  faint !  Water !  water  !" 

Mr.  Munder  looked  at  Mrs.  Pentreath,  Mrs.  Pentreath  looked 
at  Betsey,  Betsey  looked  at  the  ground.  All  three  stood 
stock-still;  all  three  seemed  equally  incapable  of  walking 
across  the  hall.  If  the  science  of  physiognomy  be  not  an  en 
tire  delusion,  the  cause  of  this  amazing  unanimity  was  legibly 
written  in  their  faces ;  in  other  words,  they  all  three  looked 
equally  afraid  of  the  ghost. 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  193 

"  Water,  I  say !  Water !"  reiterated  Uncle  Joseph,  shaking 
his  fist  at  them.  "She  is  in  a  faint!  Are  you  three  at  the 
door  there,  and  not  one  heart  of  mercy  among  you  ?  Water ! 
water  !  water  !  Must  I  scream  myself  into  fits  before  I  can 
make  you  hear  ?" 

"  I'll  get  the  water,  ma'am,"  said  Betsey,  "  if  you  or  Mr. 
Munder  will  please  to  take  it  from  here  to  the  top  of  the 
stairs." 

She  ran  to  the  kitchen,  and  came  back  with  a  glass  of  water, 
which  she  offered,  with  a  respectful  courtesy,  first  to  the 
housekeeper,  and  then  to  the  steward. 

"How  dare  you  ask  us  to  carry  things  for  you?"  said 
Mrs.  Pentreath,  backing  out  of  the  door-way. 

"  Yes !  how  dare  you  ask  us  ?"  added  Mr.  Munder,  backing 
after  Mrs.  Pentreath. 

"  Water !"  shouted  the  old  man  for  the  third  time.  He 
drew  his  niece  backward  a  little,  so  that  she  could  be  sup 
ported  against  the  wall  behind  her.  "  Water !  or  I  trample 
down  this  dungeon  of  a  place  about  your  ears !"  he  shouted, 
stamping  with  impatience  and  rage. 

"If  you  please,  Sir,  are  you  sure  it's  really  the  lady  who  is 
up  there  ?"  asked  Betsey,  advancing  a  few  paces  tremulously 
with  the  glass  of  water. 

"Am  I  sure?"  exclaimed  Uncle  Joseph,  descending  the 
stairs  to  meet  her.  "  What  fool's  question  is  this  ?  Who 
should  it  be  ?" 

"  The  ghost,  Sir,"  said  Betsey,  advancing  more  and  more 
slowly.  "  The  ghost  of  the  north  rooms." 

Uncle  Joseph  met  her  a  few  yards  in  advance  of  the  foot 
of  the  stairs,  took  the  glass  of  water  from  her  with  a  gesture 
of  contempt,  and  hastened  back  to  his  niece.  As  Betsey 
turned  to  effect  her  retreat,  the  bunch  of  keys  lying  on  the 
pavement  below  the  landing  caught  her  eye.  After  a  little 
hesitation  she  mustered  courage  enough  to  pick  them  up, 
and  then  ran  with  them  out  of  the  hall  as  fast  as  her  feet 
could  carry  her. 

Meanwhile  Uncle  Joseph  was  moistening  his  niece's  lips 
with  the  water,  and  sprinkling  it  over  her  forehead.  After  a 
while  her  breath  began  to  come  and  go  slowly,  in  faint  sighs, 
the  muscles  of  her  face  moved  a  little,  and  she  feebly  opened 
her  eyes.  They  fixed  affrightedly  on  the  old  man,  without 


194  THE    DEAD   SECKET. 

any  expression  of  recognition.  He  made  her  drink  a  little 
water,  and  spoke  to  her  gently,  and  so  brought  her  back  at 
last  to  herself.  Her  first  words  were,  "Don't  leave  me." 
Her  first  action,  when  she  was  able  to  move,  was  the  action 
of  crouching  closer  to  him. 

"  No  fear,  my  child,"  he  said,  soothingly ;  "  I  will  keep  by 
you.  Tell  me,  Sarah,  what  has  made  you  faint  ?  What  has 
frightened  you  so?" 

"  Oh,  don't  ask  me  !     For  God's  sake,  don't  ask  me  !" 

"  There,  there  !  I  shall  say  nothing,  then.  Another  mouth 
ful  of  water  ?  A  little  mouthful  more  ?" 

"Help  me  up,  uncle;  help  me  to  try  if  I  can  stand." 

"Not  yet — not  quite  yet;  patience  for  a  little  longer." 

"  Oh,  help  me !  help  me !  I  wrant  to  get  away  from  the 
sight  of  those  doors.  If  I  can  only  go  as  far  as  the  bottom 
of  the  stairs  I  shall  be  better." 

"  So,  so,"  said  Uncle  Joseph,  assisting  her  to  rise.  "  Wait 
now,  and  feel  your  feet  on  the  ground.  Lean  on  me,  lean 
hard,  lean  heavy.  Though  I  am  only  a  light  and  a  little  man, 
I  am  solid  as  a  rock.  Have  you  been  into  the  room?"  he 
added,  in  a  whisper.  "Have  you  got  the  letter?" 

She  sighed  bitterly,  and  laid  her  head  on  his  shoulder  with 
a  weary  despair. 

"  Why,  Sarah  !  Sarah  !"  he  exclaimed.  "  Have  you  been 
all  this  time  away,  and  not  got  into  the  room  yet  ?" 

She  raised  her  head  as  suddenly  as  she  had  laid  it  down, 
shuddered,  and  tried  feebly  to  draw  him  toward  the  stairs. 
"  I  shall  never  see  the  Myrtle  Room  again — never,  never,  nev 
er  more  !"  she  said.  "  Let  us  go ;  I  can  walk ;  I  am  strong 
now.  Uncle  Joseph,  if  you  love  me,  take  me  away  from  this 
house ;  away  any  where,  so  long  as  we  are  in  the  free  air  and 
the  daylight  again  ;  any  where,  so  long  as  we  are  out  of  sight 
of  Porthgenna  Tower." 

Elevating  his  eyebrows  in  astonishment,  but  considerately 
refraining  from  asking  any  more  questions,  Uncle  Joseph  as 
sisted  his  niece  to  descend  the  stairs.  She  was  still  so  weak 
that  she  was  obliged  to  pause  on  gaining  the  bottom  of  them 
to  recover  her  strength.  Seeing  this,  and  feeling,  as  he  led 
her  afterward  across  the  hall,  that  she  leaned  more  and  more 
heavily  on  his  arm  at  every  fresh  step,  the  old  man,  on  ar 
riving  within  speaking  distance  of  Mr.  Munder  and  Mrs. 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  195 

Pentreath,  asked  the  housekeeper  if  she  possessed  any  restor 
ative  drops  which  she  would  allow  him  to  administer  to  his 
niece. 

Mrs.  Pentreath's  reply  in  the  affirmative,  though  not  very 
graciously  spoken,  was  accompanied  by  an  alacrity  of  action 
which  showed  that  she  was  heartily  rejoiced  to  take  the  first 
fair  excuse  for  returning  to  the  inhabited  quarter  of  the  house. 
Muttering  something  about  showing  the  way  to  the  place 
where  the  medicine-chest  was  kept,  she  immediately  retraced 
her  steps  along  the  passage  to  her  own  room ;  while  Uncle 
Joseph,  disregarding  all  Sarah's  whispered  assurances  that 
she  was  well  enough  to  depart  without  another  moment  of 
delay,  followed  her  silently,  leading  his  niece. 

Mr.  Munder,  shaking  his  head,  and  looking  woefully  discon 
certed,  waited  behind  to  lock  the  door  of  communication. 
When  he  had  done  this,  and  had  given  the  keys  to  Betsey  to 
carry  back  to  their  appointed  place,  he,  in  his  turn,  retired 
from  the  scene  at  a  pace  indecorously  approaching  to  some 
thing  like  a  run.  On  getting  well  away  from  the  north  hall, 
however,  he  regained  his  self-possession  wonderfully.  He  ab 
ruptly  slackened  his  pace,  collected  his  scattered  wits,  and 
reflected  a  little,  apparently  with  perfect  satisfaction  to  him 
self;  for  when  he  entered  the  housekeeper's  room  he  had  quite 
recovered  his  usual  complacent  solemnity  of  look  and  manner. 
Like  the  vast  majority  of  densely  stupid  men,  he  felt  intense 
pleasure  in  hearing  himself  talk,  and  he  now  discerned  such 
an  opportunity  of  indulging  in  that  luxury,  after  the  events 
that  had  just  happened  in  the  house,  as  he  seldom  enjoyed. 
There  is  only  one  kind  of  speaker  who  is  quite  certain  never 
to  break  down  under  any  stress  of  circumstances — the  man 
whose  capability  of  talking  does  not  include  any  dangerous 
underlying  capacity  for  knowing  what  he  means.  Among 
this  favored  order  of  natural  orators,  Mr.  Munder  occupied  a 
prominent  rank — and  he  was  now  vindictively  resolved  to 
exercise  his  abilities  on  the  two  strangers,  under  pretense  of 
asking  for  an  explanation  of  their  conduct,  before  be  could 
suffer  them  to  quit  the  house. 

On  entering  the  room,  he  found  Uncle  Joseph  seated  with 
his  niece  at  the  lower  end  of  it,  engaged  in  dropping  some 
sal  volatile  into  a  glass  of  water.  At  the  upper  end  stood 
the  housekeeper  with  an  open  medicine-chest  on  the  table 


196  THE    DEAD   SECKET. 

before  her.  To  this  part  of  the  room  Mr.  Munder  slowly  ad 
vanced,  with  a  portentous  countenance ;  drew  an  arm-chair 
up  to  the  table ;  sat  himself  down  in  it,  with  extreme  deliber 
ation  and  care  in  the  matter  of  settling  his  coat-tails ;  and 
immediately  became,  to  all  outward  appearance,  the  model 
of  a  Lord  Chief  Justice  in  plain  clothes. 

Mrs.  Pentreath,  conscious  from  these  preparations  that  some 
thing  extraordinary  was  about  to  happen,  seated  herself  a  little 
behind  the  steward.  Betsey  restored  the  keys  to  their  place 
on  the  nail  in  the  wall,  and  was  about  to  retire  modestly  to  her 
proper  kitchen  sphere,  when  she  was  stopped  by  Mr.  Munder. 

"  Wait,  if  you  please,"  said  the  steward ;  "  I  shall  have  oc 
casion  to  call  on  you  presently,  young  woman,  to  make  a 
plain  statement." 

Obedient  Betsey  waited  near  the  door,  terrified  by  the  idea 
that  she  must  have  done  something  wrong,  and  that  the  stew 
ard  was  armed  with  inscrutable  legal  power  to  try,  sentence, 
and  punish  her  for  the  oifense  on  the  spot. 

"Now,  Sir,"  said  Mr. Munder,  addressing  Uncle  Joseph  as 
if  he  was  the  Speaker  of  the  House  of  Commons,  "  if  you  have 
done  with  that  sal  volatile,  and  if  the  person  by  your  side  has 
sufficiently  recovered  her  senses  to  listen,  I  should  wish  to 
say  a  word  or  two  to  both  of  you." 

At  this  exordium,  Sarah  tried  affrightedly  to  rise  from  her 
chair ;  but  her  uncle  caught  her  by  the  hand,  and  pressed  her 
back  in  it. 

"  Wait  and  rest,"  he  whispered.  "  I  shall  take  all  the  scold 
ing  on  my  own  shoulder,  and  do  all  the  talking  with  my  own 
tongue.  As  soon  as  you  are  fit  to  walk  again,  I  promise  you 
this :  whether  the  big  man  has  said  his  word  or  two,  or  has 
not  said  it,  we  will  quietly  get  up  and  go  our  ways  out  of 
the  house." 

"  Up  to  the  present  moment,"  said  Mr.  Munder,  "  I  have 
refrained  from  expressing  an  opinion.  The  time  has  now 
come  when,  holding  a  position  of  trust  as  I  do  in  this  estab 
lishment,  and  being  accountable,  and  indeed  responsible,  as 
I  am,  for  what  takes  place  in  it,  and  feeling,  as  I  must,  that 
things  can  not  be  allowed  or  even  permitted  to  rest  as  they 
are — it  is  my  duty  to  say  that  I  think  your  conduct  is  very 
extraordinary."  Directing  this  forcible  conclusion  to  his 
sentence  straight  at  Sarah,  Mr.  Munder  leaned  back  in  his 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  197 

chair,  quite  full  of  words,  and  quite  empty  of  meaning,  to 
collect  himself  comfortably  for  his  next  effort. 

"My  only  desire,"  he  resumed,  with  a  plaintive  impartial 
ity,  "is  to  act  fairly  by  all  parties.  I  don't  wish  to  frighten 
any  body,  or  to  startle  any  body,  or  even  to  terrify  any  body. 
I  wish  to  unravel,  or,  if  you  please,  to  make  out,  what  I  may 
term,  with  perfect  propriety — events.  And  when  I  have 
done  that,  I  should  wish  to  put  it  to  you,  ma'am,  and  to  you, 
Sir,  whether — I  say,  I  should  wish  to  put  it  to  you  both, 
calmly,  and  impartially,  and  politely,  and  plainly,  and  smooth 
ly — and  when  I  say  smoothly,  I  mean  quietly — whether  you 
are  not  both  of  you  bound  to  explain  yourselves." 

Mr.  Munder  paused,  to  let  that  last  irresistible  appeal  work 
its  way  to  the  consciences  of  the  persons  whom  he  addressed. 
The  housekeeper  took  advantage  of  the  silence  to  cough,  as 
congregations  cough  just  before  the  sermon,  apparently  on 
the  principle  of  getting  rid  of  bodily  infirmities  beforehand, 
in  order  to  give  the  mind  free  play  for  undisturbed  intellect 
ual  enjoyment.  Betsey,  following  Mrs.  Pentreath's  lead,  in 
dulged  in  a  cough  on  her  own  account — of  the  faint,  distrust 
ful  sort.  Uncle  Joseph  sat  perfectly  easy  and  undismayed, 
still  holding  his  niece's  hand  in  his,  and  giving  it  a  little 
squeeze,  from  time  to  time,  when  the  steward's  oratory  be 
came  particularly  involved  and  impressive.  Sarah  never 
moved,  never  looked  up,  never  lost  the  expression  of  terrified 
restraint  which  had  taken  possession  of  her  face  from  the  first 
moment  when  she  entered  the  housekeeper's  room. 

"  Now  what  are  the  facts,  and  circumstances,  and  events  ?" 
proceeded  Mr.  Munder,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  in  calm  en 
joyment  of  the  sound  of  his  own  voice.  "You,  ma'am,  and 
you,  Sir,  ring  at  the  bell  of  the  door  of  this  Mansion  "  (here 
he  looked  hard  at  Uncle  Joseph,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  I  don't 
give  up  that  point  about  the  house  being  a  Mansion,  you  see, 
even  on  the  judgment-seat") — "  you  are  let  in,  or,  rather,  ad 
mitted.  You,  Sir,  assert  that  you  wish  to  inspect  the  Man 
sion  (you  say  c  see  the  house,'  but,  being  a  foreigner,  we  are 
not  surprised  at  your  making  a  little  mistake  of  that  sort) ; 
you,  ma'am,  coincide,  and  even  agree,  in  that  request.  What 
follows?  You  are  shown  over  the  Mansion.  It  is  not  usual 
to  show  strangers  over  it,  but  we  happen  to  have  certain 


198  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

Sarah  started.  "  What  reasons  ?"  she  asked,  looking  up 
quickly. 

Uncle  Joseph  felt  her  hand  turn  cold,  and  tremble  in  his. 
"  Hush  !  hush  !"  he  said,  "  leave  the  talking  to  me." 

At  the  same  moment  Mrs.  Pentreath  pulled  Mr.  Munder 
warily  by  the  coat-tail,  and  whispered  to  him  to  be  careful. 
"Mrs.  Frankland's  letter,"  she  said  in  his  ear,  "tells  us  par 
ticularly  not  to  let  it  be  suspected  that  we  are  acting  under 
orders." 

"Don't  you  fancy,  Mrs.  Pentreath,  that  I  forget  what  I 
ought  to  remember,"  rejoined  Mr.  Munder — who  had  forgot 
ten,  nevertheless.  "  And  don't  you  imagine  that  I  was  going 
to  commit  myself"  (the  very  thing  which  he  had  just  been 
on  the  point  of  doing).  "  Leave  this  business  in  my  hands, 
if  you  will  be  so  good. — What  reasons  did  you  say,  ma'am?" 
he  added  aloud,  addressing  himself  to  Sarah.  "  Never  you 
mind  about  reasons ;  wre  have  not  got  to  do  with  them  now ; 
we  have  got  to  do  with  facts,  and  circumstances,  and  events. 
I  was  observing,  or  remarking,  that  you,  Sir,  and  you,  ma'am, 
were  shown  over  this  Mansion.  You  were  conducted,  and 
indeed  led,  up  the  west  staircase — the  Spacious  west  staircase, 
Sir!  You  were  shown  with  politeness,  and  even  with  court 
esy,  through  the  breakfast-room,  the  library,  and  the  draw 
ing-room.  In  that  drawing-room,  you,  Sir,  indulge  in  outra 
geous,  and,  I  will  add,  in  violent  language.  In  that  drawing- 
room,  you,  ma'am,  disappear,  or,  rather,  go  altogether  out  of 
sight.  Such  conduct  as  this,  so  highly  unparalleled,  so  entire 
ly  unprecedented,  and  so  very  unusual,  causes  Mrs.  Pentreath 
and  myself  to  feel — "  Here  Mr.  Munder  stopped,  at  a  loss  for 
a  word  for  the  first  time. 

"  Astonished,"  suggested  Mrs.  Pentreath  after  a  long  in 
terval  of  silence. 

"  No,  ma'am !"  retorted  Mr.  Munder.  "  Nothing  of  the 
sort.  We  were  not  at  all  astonished;  we  were — surprised. 
And  what  followed  and  succeeded  that  ?  What  did  you  and 
I  hear,  Sir,  on  the  first  floor?"  (looking  sternly  at  Uncle  Jo 
seph).  "  And  what  did  you  hear,  Mrs.  Pentreath,  w7hile  you 
were  searching  for  the  missing  and  absent  party  on  the  sec 
ond  floor?  What?" 

Thus  personally  appealed  to,  the  housekeeper  answered 
briefly — u  A  scream." 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  199 

"No!  no!  no!"  said  Mr.  Munder,  fretfully  tapping  his 
hand  on  the  table.  "  A  screech,  Mrs.  Pentreath — a  screech. 
And  what  is  the  meaning,  purport,  and  upshot  of  that  screech? 

Young  woman !"  (here  Mr.  Munder  turned  suddenly  on 

Betsey)  "  we  have  now  traced  these  extraordinary  facts  and 
circumstances  as  far  as  you.  Have  the  goodness  to  step  for 
ward,  and  tell  us,  in  the  presence  of  these  two  parties,  how 
you  came  to  utter,  or  give,  what  Mrs.  Pentreath  calls  a  scream, 
but  what  I  call  a  screech.  A  plain  statement  will  do,  my 
good  girl — quite  a  plain  statement,  if  you  please.  And, 
young  woman,  one  word  more — speak  up.  You  understand 
me  ?  Speak  up  !" 

Covered  with  confusion  by  the  public  and  solemn  nature 
of  this  appeal,  Betsey,  on  starting  with  her  statement,  uncon 
sciously  followed  the  oratorical  example  of  no  less  a  person 
than  Mr.  Munder  himself;  that  is  to  say,  she  spoke  on  the 
principle  of  drowning  the  smallest  possible  infusion  of  ideas 
in  the  largest  possible  dilution  of  words.  Extricated  from 
the  mesh  of  verbal  entanglement  in  which  she  contrived  to 
involve  it,  her  statement  may  be  not  unfairly  represented  as 
simply  consisting  of  the  following  facts: 

First,  Betsey  had  to  relate  that  she  happened  to  be  just 
taking  the  lid  off  a  saucepan,  on  the  kitchen  fire,  when  she 
heard,  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  housekeeper's  room,  a  sound 
of  hurried  footsteps  (vernacularly  termed  by  the  witness  a 
"  scurrying  of  somebody's  feet ").  Secondly,  Betsey,  on  leav 
ing  the  kitchen  to  ascertain  what  the  sound  meant,  heard  the 
footsteps  retreating  rapidly  along  the  passage  which  led  to 
the  north  side  of  the  house,  and,  stimulated  by  curiosity,  fol 
lowed  the  sound  of  them  for  a  certain  distance.  Thirdly,  at 
a  sharp  turn  in  the  passage,  Betsey  stopped  short,  despairing 
of  overtaking  the  person  whose  footsteps  she  heard,  and  feel 
ing  also  a  sense  of  dread  (termed  by  the  witness,  "  creeping 
of  the  flesh")  at  the  idea  of  venturing  alone,  even  in  broad 
daylight,  into  the  ghostly  quarter  of  the  house.  Fourthly, 
while  still  hesitating  at  the  turn  in  the  passage,  Betsey  heard 
"  the  lock  of  a  door  go,"  and,  stimulated  afresh  by  curiosity, 
advanced  a  few  steps  farther — then  stopped  again,  debating 
within  herself  the  difficult  and  dreadful  question,  whether  it 
is  the  usual  custom  of  ghosts,  when  passing  from  one  place  to 
another,  to  unlock  any  closed  door  which  may  happen  to  be 


200  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

in  their  way,  or  to  save  trouble  by  simply  passing  through 
it.  Fifthly,  after  long  deliberation,  and  many  false  starts — 
forward  toward  the  north  hall  and  backward  toward  the 
kitchen — Betsey  decided  that  it  was  the  immemorial  custom 
of  all  ghosts  to  pass  through  doors,  and  not  unlock  them. 
Sixthly,  fortified  by  this  conviction,  Betsey  went  on  boldly 
close  to  the  door,  when  she  suddenly  heard  a  loud  report,  as 
of  some  heavy  body  falling  (graphically  termed  by  the  wit 
ness  a  "  banging  scrash  ").  Seventhly,  the  noise  frightened 
Betsey  out  of  her  wits,  brought  her  heart  up  into  her  mouth, 
and  took  away  her  breath.  Eighthly,  and  lastly,  on  recov 
ering  breath  enough  to  scream  (or  screech),  Betsey  did,  with 
might  and  main,  scream  (or  screech),  running  back  toward 
the  kitchen  as  fast  as  her  legs  would  carry  her,  with  all  her 
hair  "  standing  up  on  end,"  and  all  her  flesh  "  in  a  crawl " 
from  the  crown  of  her  head  to  the  soles  of  her  feet. 

"  Just  so  !  just  so  !"  said  Mr.  Munder,  when  the  statement 
came  to  a  close — as  if  the  sight  of  a  young  woman  with  all 
her  hair  standing  on  end  and  all  her  flesh  in  a  crawl  were  an 
ordinary  result  of  his  experience  of  female  humanity — "  Ju^t 
so  !  You  may  stand  back,  my  good  girl — you  may  stand 
back. — There  is  nothing  to  smile  at,  Sir,"  he  continued, 
sternly  addressing^ Uncle  Joseph,  who  had  been  excessively 
amused  by  Betsey's  manner  of  delivering  her  evidence. 
"You  would  be  doing  better  to  carry,  or  rather  transport, 
your  mind  back  to  what  followed  and  succeeded  the  young 
woman's  screech.  What  did  we  all  do,  Sir  ?  We  rushed  to 
the  spot,  and  we  ran  to  the  place.  And  what  did  we  all  see, 
Sir? — We  saw  you,  ma'am,  lying  horizontally  prostrate,  on 
the  top  of  the  landing  of  the  first  of  the  flight  of  the  north 
stairs ;  and  we  saw  those  keys,  now  hanging  up  yonder,  ab 
stracted  and  purloined,  and,  as  it  were,  snatched  from  their 
place  in  this  room,  and  lying  horizontally  prostrate  likewise 
on  the  floor  of  the  hall. — There  are  the  facts,  the  circumstan 
ces,  and  the  events,  laid,  or  rather  placed,  before  you.  What 
have  you  got  to  say  to  them  ?  I  call  upon  you  both  solemn 
ly,  and,  I  will  add,  seriously  !  In  my  own  name,  in  the  name 
of  Mrs.  Pentreath,  in  the  name  of  our  employers,  in  the  name 
of  decency,  in  the  name  of  wonder — what  do  you  mean  by 
it?" 

With  that  conclusion,  Mr.  Munder  struck  his  fist  on  the 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  201 

table,  and  waited,  with  a  glare  of  merciless  expectation,  for 
any  thing  in  the  shape  of  an  answer,  an  explanation,  or  a  de 
fense  which  the  culprits  at  the  bottom  of  the  room  might  be 
disposed  to  offer. 

"  Tell  him  any  thing,"  whispered  Sarah  to  the  old  man. 
"  Any  thing  to  keep  him  quiet;  any  thing  to  make  him  let  us 
go  !  After  what  I  have  suffered,  these  people  will  drive  me 
mad !" 

Never  very  quick  at  inventing  an  excuse,  and  perfectly  ig 
norant  besides  of  what  had  really  happened  to  his  niece  while 
she  was  alone  in  the  north  hall,  Uncle  Joseph,  with  the  best 
will  in  the  world  to  prove  himself  equal  to  the  emergency, 
felt  considerable  difficulty  in  deciding  what  he  should  say  or 
do.  Determined,  however,  at  all  hazards,  to  spare  Sarah  any 
useless  suffering,  and  to.  remove  her  from  the  house  as  speed 
ily  as  possible,  he  rose  to  take  the  responsibility  of  speaking 
on  himself,  looking  hard,  before  he  opened  his  lips,  at  Mr. 
Munder,  who  immediately  leaned  forward  on  the  table  with 
his  hand  to  his  ear.  Uncle  Joseph  acknowledged  this  polite 
act  of  attention  with  one  of  his  fantastic  bows;  and  then  re 
plied  to  the  whole  of  the  steward's  long  harangue  in  these 
six  unanswerable  words : 

"  I  wish  you  good-day,  Sir !" 

"  How  dare  you  wish  me  any  thing  of  the  sort !"  cried  Mr. 
Munder,  jumping  out  of  his  chair  in  violent  indignation. 
"How  dare  you  trifle  with  a  serious  subject  and  a  serious 
question  in  that  way  ?  Wish  me  good-day,  indeed  !  Do 
you  suppose  I  am  going  to  let  you  out  of  this  house  without 
hearing  some  explanation  of  the  abstracting  and  purloining 
and  snatching  of  the  keys  of  the  north  rooms?" 

"Ah  !  it  is  that  you  want  to  know?"  said  Uncle  Joseph, 
stimulated  to  plunge  headlong  into  an  excuse  by  the  increas 
ing  agitation  and  terror  of  his  niece.  "  See,  now  !  I  shall  ex 
plain.  What  was  it,  dear  and  good  Sir,  that  we  said  when 
we  were  first  let  in  ?  This — c  We  have  come  to  see  the 
house.'  Now  there  is  a  north  side  to  the  house,  and  a  west 
side  to  the  house.  Good  !  That  is  two  sides  ;  and  I  and  my 
niece  are  two  people;  and  we  divide  ourselves  in  two,  to 
see  the  two  sides.  I  am  the  half  that  goes  west,  with  you 
and  the  dear  and  good  lady  behind  there.  My  niece  here  is 
the  other  half  that  goes  north,  all  by  herself,  and  drops  the 


202  THE    DEAD    SECKET. 

keys,  and  falls  into  a  faint,  because  in  that  old  part  of  the 
house  it  is  what  you  call  musty-fusty,  and  there  is  smells  of 
tombs  and  spiders,  and  that  is  all  the  explanation,  and  quite 
enough,  too.  I  wish  you  good-day,  Sir." 

"  Damme !  if  ever  I  met  with  the  like  of  you  before  !" 
roared  Mr.  Munder,  entirely  forgetting  his  dignity,  his  re 
spectability,  and  his  long  words  in  the  exasperation  of  the 
moment.  u  You  are  going  to  have  it  all  your  own  way,  are 
you,  Mr.  Foreigner  ?  You  will  walk  out  of  this  place  when 
you  please,  will  you,  Mr.  Foreigner?  We  will  see  what  the 
justice  of  the  peace  for  this  district  has  to  say  to  that,"  cried 
Mr.  Munder,  recovering  his  solemn  manner  and  his  lofty 
phraseology.  "  Property  in  this  house  is  confided  to  my 
care ;  and  unless  I  hear  some  satisfactory  explanation  of  the 
purloining  of  those  keys  hanging  up  there,  Sir,  on  that  wall, 
Sir,  before  your  eyes,  Sir — I  shall  consider  it  my  duty  to  de 
tain  you,  and  the  person  with  you,  until  I  can  get  legal  ad 
vice,  and  lawful  advice,  and  magisterial  advice.  Do  you 
hear  that,  Sir?" 

Uncle  Joseph's  ruddy  cheeks  suddenly  deepened  in  color, 
and  his  face  assumed  an  expression  which  made  the  house 
keeper  rather  uneasy,  and  which  had  an  irresistibly  cooling 
effect  on  the  heat  of  Mr.  Munder's  anger. 

"  You  will  keep  us  here?  You?"  said  the  old  man,  speak 
ing  very  quietly,  and  looking  very  steadily  at  the  steward. 
"  Now,  see.  I  take  this  lady  (courage,  my  child,  courage ! 
there  is  nothing  to  tremble  for) — I  take  this  lady  with  me ; 
I  throw  that  door  open,  so !  I  stand  and  wait  before  it  ;  and 
I  say  to  you,  *  Shut  that  door  against  us,  if  you  dare.' " 

At  this  defiance,  Mr.  Munder  advanced  a  few  steps,  and 
then  stopped.  If  Uncle  John's  steady  look  at  him  had  wav 
ered  for  an  instant,  he  would  have  closed  the  door. 

"  I  say  again,"  repeated  the  old  man,  "  shut  it  against  us, 
if  you  dare.  The  laws  and  customs  of  your  country,  Sir, 
have  made  me  an  Englishman.  If  you  can  talk  into  one  ear 
of  a  magistrate,  I  can  talk  into  the  other.  If  he  must  listen 
to  you,  a  citizen  of  this  country,  he  must  listen  to  me,  a 
citizen  of  this  country  also.  Say  the  word,  if  you  please. 
Do  you  accuse  ?  or  do  you  threaten  ?  or  do  you  shut  the 
door?" 

Before  Mr.  Munder  could  reply  to  any  one  of  these  three 


THE   DEAD   SECRET.  203 

direct  questions,  the  housekeeper  begged  him  to  return  to 
his  chair  and  to  speak  to  her.  As  he  resumed  his  place,  she 
whispered  to  him,  in  warning  tones,  "Remember  Mrs.  Frank- 
land's  letter !" 

At  the  same  moment,  Uncle  Joseph,  considering  that  he 
had  waited  long  enough,  took  a  step  forward  to  the  door. 
He  was  prevented  from  advancing  any  farther  by  his  niece, 
who  caught  him  suddenly  by  the  arm,  and  said  in  his  ear, 
"  Look  !  they  are  whispering  about  us  again  !" 

"  Well !"  said  Mr.  Munder,  replying  to  the  housekeeper. 
"  I  do  remember  Mrs.  Frankland's  letter,  ma'am ;  and  what 
then  ?" 

"  Hush  !  not  so  loud,"  whispered  Mrs.  Pentreath.  "  I  don't 
presume,  Mr.  Munder,  to  differ  in  opinion  with  you ;  but  I 
want  to  ask  one  or  two  questions.  Do  you  think  we  have 
any  charge  that  a  magistrate  would  listen  to,  to  bring  against 
these  people  ?" 

Mr.  Munder  looked  puzzled,  and  seemed,  for  once  in  a  way, 
to  be  at  a  loss  for  an  answer. 

"  Does  what  you  remember  of  Mrs.  Frankland's  letter," 
pursued  the  housekeeper,  "  incline  you  to  think  that  she 
would  be  pleased  at  a  public  exposure  of  what  has  happened 
in  the  house  ?  She  tells  us  to  take  private  notice  of  that 
woman's  conduct,  and  to  follow  her  unperceived  when  she 
goes  away.  I  don't  venture  on  the  liberty  of  advising  you, 
Mr.  Munder,  but,  as  far  as  regards  myself,  I  wash  my  hands 
of  all  responsibility,  if  we  do  any  thing  but  follow  Mrs. 
Frankland's  instructions  (as  she  herself  tells  us)  to  the  letter." 

Mr.  Munder  hesitated.  Uncle  Joseph,  who  had  paused  for 
a  minute  when  Sarah  directed  his  attention  to  the  whisper 
ing  at  the  upper  end  of  the  room,  now  drew  her  on  slowly 
with  him  to  the  door.  "  Betzee,  my  dear,"  he  said,  address 
ing  the  maid,  with  perfect  coolness  and  composure, "  we  are 
strangers  here ;  will  you  be  so  kind  to  us  as  to  show  the  way 
out?" 

Betsey  looked  at  the  housekeeper,  who  motioned  to  her  to 
appeal  for  orders  to  the  steward.  Mr.  Munder  was  sorely 
tempted,  for  the  sake  of  his  own  importance,  to  insist  on  in 
stantly  carrying  out  the  violent  measures  to  which  he  had 
threatened  to  have  recourse;  but  Mrs.  Pentreath's  objections 
made  him  pause  in  spite  of  himself. 


204  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

"  Betzee,  my  dear,"  repeated  Uncle  Joseph,  "  has  all  this 
talking  been  too  much  for  your  ears  ?  has  it  made  you  deaf?" 

"  Wait !"  cried  Mr.  Munder,  impatiently.  "I  insist  on  your 
waiting,  Sir !" 

"  You  insist  ?  Well,  well,  because  you  are  an  uncivil  man 
is  no  reason  why  I  should  be  an  uncivil  man  too.  We  will 
wait  a  little,  Sir,  if  you  have  any  thing  more  to  say."  Making 
that  concession  to  the  claims  of  politeness,  Uncle  Joseph 
walked  gently  backward  and  forward  with  his  niece  in  the 
passage  outside  the  door.  "  Sarah,  my  child,  I  have  frighten 
ed  the  man  of  the  big  words,"  he  whispered.  "  Try  not  to 
tremble  so  much ;  we  shall  soon  be  out  in  the  fresh  air 
again." 

In  the  mean  time,  Mr.  Munder  continued  his  whispered 
conversation  with  the  housekeeper,  making  a  desperate  effort, 
in  the  midst  of  his  perplexities,  to  maintain  his  customary  air 
of  patronage  and  his  customary  assumption  of  superiority. 
"  There  is  a  great  deal  of  truth,  ma'am,"  he  softly  began — "  a 
great  deal  of  truth,  certainly,  in  what  you  say.  But  you  are 
talking  of  the  woman,  while  I  am  talking  of  the  man.  Do 
you  mean  to  tell  me  that  I  am  to  let  him  go,  after  what  has 
happened,  without  at  least  insisting  on  his  giving  me  his 
name  and  address  ?" 

"  Do  you  put  trust  enough  in  the  foreigner  to  believe  that 
he  would  give  you  his  right  name  and  address  if  you  asked 
him?"  inquired  Mrs.  Pentreath.  "With  submission  to  your 
better  judgment,  I  must  confess  that  I  don't.  But  supposing 
you  were  to  detain  him  and  charge  him  before  the  magistrate 
— and  how  you  are  to  do  that,  the  magistrate's  house  being, 
I  suppose,  about  a  couple  of  hours'  walk  from  here,  is  more 
than  I  can  tell — you  must  surely  risk  offending  Mrs.  Frank- 
land  by  detaining  the  woman  and  charging  the  woman  as 
well ;  for  after  all,  Mr.  Munder,  though  I  believe  the  foreigner 
to  be  capable  of  any  thing,  it  was  the  woman  that  took  the 
keys,  was  it  not  ?" 

"  Quite  so  !  quite  so  !"  said  Mr.  Munder,  whose  sleepy  eyes 
were  now  opened  to  this  plain  and  straightforward  view  of 
the  case  for  the  first  time.  "  I  was,  oddly  enough,  putting 
that  point  to  myself,  Mrs.  Pentreath,  just  before  you  hap 
pened  to  speak  of  it.  Just  so  !  just  so  !" 

"  I  can't  help  thinking,"  continued  the  housekeeper,  in  a 


THE   DEAD   SECRET.  205 

mysterious  whisper,  "that  the  best  plan,  and  the  plan  most 
in  accordance  with  our  instructions,  is  to  let  them  both  go,  as 
if  we  did  not  care  to  demean  ourselves  by  any  more  quarrel 
ing  or  arguing  with  them,  and  to  have  them  followed  to  the 
next  place  they  stop  at.  The  gardener's  boy,  Jacob,  is  weed 
ing  the  broad  walk  in  the  west  garden  this  afternoon.  These 
people  have  not  seen  him  about  the  premises,  and  need  not 
see  him,  if  they  are  let  out  again  by  the  south  door.  Jacob 
is  a  sharp  lad,  as  you  know;  and,  if  he  was  properly  instruct 
ed,  I  really  don't  see — " 

"  It  is  a  most  singular  circumstance,  Mrs.  Pentreath,"  inter 
posed  Mr.  Munder,  with  the  gravity  of  consummate  assurance ; 
"  but  when  I  first  sat  down  to  this  table,  that  idea  about 
Jacob  occurred  to  me.  What  with  the  effort  of  speaking, 
and  the  heat  of  argument,  I  got  led  away  from  it  in  the  most 
unaccountable  manner — " 

Here  Uncle  Joseph,  whose  stock  of  patience  and  politeness 
was  getting  exhausted,  put  his  head  into  the  room  again. 

"  I  shall  have  one  last  word  to  address  to  you,  Sir,  in  a 
moment,"  said  Mr.  Munder,  before  the  old  man  could  speak. 
"Don't  you  suppose  that  your  blustering  and  your  bullying 
has  had  any  effect  on  me.  It  may  do  with  foreigners,  Sir ;  but 
it  won't  do  with  Englishmen,  I  can  tell  you." 

Uncle  Joseph  shrugged  his  shoulders,  smiled,  and  rejoined 
his  niece  in  the  passage  outside.  While  the  housekeeper  and 
the  steward  had  been  conferring  together,  Sarah  had  been 
trying  hard  to  persuade  her  uncle  to  profit  by  her  knowledge 
of  the  passages  that  led  to  the  south  door,  and  to  slip  away 
unperceived.  But  the  old  man  steadily  refused  to  be  guided 
by  her  advice.  "  I  will  not  go  out  of  a  place  guiltily,"  he  said, 
"  when  I  have  done  no  harm.  Nothing  shall  persuade  me  to 
put  myself,  or  to  put  you,  in  the  wrong.  I  am  not  a  man  of 
much  wits ;  but  let  my  conscience  guide  me,  and  so  long  I 
shall  go  right.  They  let  us  in  here,  Sarah,  of  their  own  ac 
cord  ;  and  they  shall  let  us  out  of  their  own  accord  also." 

"Mr.  Munder!  Mr.  Munder  !"  whispered  the  housekeeper, 
interfering  to  stop  a  fresh  explosion  of  the  steward's  indigna 
tion,  which  threatened  to  break  out  at  the  contempt  implied 
by  the  shrugging  of  Uncle  Joseph's  shoulders,  "  while  you 
are  speaking  to  that  audacious  man,  shall  I  slip  into  the  gar 
den  and  give  Jacob  his  instructions?" 


206  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

Mr.  Munder  paused  before  answering — tried  hard  to  see  a 
more  dignified  way  out  of  the  dilemma  in  which  he  had  placed 
himself  than  the  way  suggested  by  the  housekeeper — failed 
entirely  to  discern  any  thing  of  the  sort — swallowed  his  in 
dignation  at  one  heroic  gulp — and  replied  emphatically  in 
two  words :  "  Go,  ma'am." 

"  What  does  that  mean  ?  what  has  she  gone  that  way  for?" 
said  Sarah  to  her  uncle,  in  a  quick,  suspicious  whisper,  as  the 
housekeeper  brushed  hastily  by  them  on  her  way  to  the  west 
garden. 

Before  there  was  time  to  answer  the  question,  it  was  fol 
lowed  by  another,  put  by  Mr.  Munder. 

"Now,  Sir!"  said  the  steward,  standing  in  the  door-way, 
with  his  hands  under  his  coat-tails  and  his  head  very  high  in 
the  air.  "  Now,  Sir,  and  now,  ma'am,  for  my  last  words.  Am 
I  to  have  a  proper  explanation  of  the  abstracting  and  pur 
loining  of  those  keys,  or  am  I  not  ?" 

"  Certainly,  Sir,  you  are  to  have  the  explanation,"  replied 
Uncle  Joseph.  "  It  is,  if  you  please,  the  same  explanation 
that  I  had  the  honor  of  giving  to  you  a  little  while  ago.  Do 
you  wish  to  hear  it  again  ?  It  is  all  the  explanation  we  have 
got  about  us." 

"  Oh  !  it  is,  is  it  ?"  said  Mr.  Munder.  "  Then  all  I  have  to 
say  to  both  of  you  is — leave  the  house  directly  !  Directly  !" 
he  added,  in  his  most  coarsely  oifensive  tones,  taking  refuge 
in  the  insolence  of  authority,  from  the  dim  consciousness  of 
the  absurdity  of  his  own  position,  which  would  force  itself  on 
him  even  while  he  spoke.  "  Yes,  Sir  !"  he  continued,  grow 
ing  more  and  more  angry  at  the  composure  with  which  Uncle 
Joseph  listened  to  him — "  Yes,  Sir !  you  may  bow  and  scrape, 
and  jabber  your  broken  English  somewhere  else.  I  won't  put 
up  with  you  here.  I  have  reflected  with  myself,  and  reasoned 
with  myself,  and  asked  myself  calmly — as  Englishmen  always 
do — if  it  is  any  use  making  you  of  importance,  and  I  have 
come  to  a  conclusion,  and  that  conclusion  is — no,  it  isn't ! 
Don't  you  go  away  with  a  notion  that  your  blusterings  and 
bullyings  have  had  any  effect  on  me.  (Show  them  out, 
Betsey!)  I  consider  you  beneath  —  aye,  and  below!  —  my 
notice.  Language  fails,  Sir,  to  express  my  contempt.  Leave 
the  house  !" 

"  And  I,  Sir,"  returned  the  object  of  all  this  withering  deri- 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  207 

sion,  with  the  most  exasperating  politeness,  "  I  shall  say,  for 
having  your  contempt,  what  I  could  by  no  means  have  said 
for  having  your  respect,  which  is,  briefly — thank  you.  I,  the 
small  foreigner,  take  the  contempt  of  you,  the  big  Englishman, 
as  the  greatest  compliment  that  can  be  paid  from  a  man  of 
your  composition  to  a  man  of  mine."  With  that,  Uncle 
Joseph  made  a  last  fantastic  bow,  took  his  niece's  arm,  and 
followed  Betsey  along  the  passages  that  led  to  the  south  door, 
leaving  Mr.  Munder  to  compose  a  fit  retort  at  his  leisure. 

Ten  minutes  later  the  housekeeper  returned  breathless  to 
her  room,  and  found  the  steward  walking  backward  and  for 
ward  in  a  high  state  of  irritation. 

"  Pray  make  your  mind  easy,  Mr.  Munder,"  she  said.  "  They 
are  both  clear  of  the  house  at  last,  and  Jacob  has  got  them 
well  in  view  on  the  path  over  the  moor." 


CHAPTER  V. 

MOZART   PLAYS    FAREWELL. 

EXCEPTING  that  he  took  leave  of  Betsey,  the  servant-maid, 
with  great  cordiality,  Uncle  Joseph  spoke  not  another  word, 
after  his  parting  reply  to  Mr.  Munder,  until  he  and  his  niece 
were  alone  again  under  the  east  wall  of  Porthgenna  Tower. 
There  he  paused,  looked  up  at  the  house,  then  at  his  compan 
ion,  then  back  at  the  house  once  more,  and  at  last  opened  his 
lips  to  speak. 

"I  am  sorry,  my  child,"  he  said — "I  am  sorry  from  my 
heart.  This  has  been  what  you  call  in  England  a  bad  job." 

Thinking  that  he  referred  to  the  scene  which  had  just  passed 
in  the  housekeeper's  room,  Sarah  asked  his  pardon  for  having 
been  the  innocent  means  of  bringing  him  into  angry  collision 
with  such  a  person  as  Mr.  Munder. 

"  No  !  no  !  no  !"  he  cried.  "  I  was  not  thinking  of  the  man 
of  the  big  body  and  the  big  words.  He  made  me  angry,  it 
is  not  to  be  denied ;  but  that  is  all  over  and  gone  now.  I 
put  him  and  his  big  words  away  from  me,  as  I  kick  this  stone, 
here,  from  the  pathway  into  the  road.  It  is  not  of  your  Mun- 
ders,  or  your  housekeepers,  or  your  Betzees,  that  I  now  speak 
— it  is  of  something  that  is  nearer  to  you  and  nearer  to  me 
also,  because  I  make  of  your  interest  my  own  interest  too.  I 

K 


208  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

shall  tell  you  what  it  is  while  we  walk  on — for  I  see  in  your 
face,  Sarah,  that  you  are  restless  and  in  fear  so  long  as  we 
stop  in  the  neighborhood  of  this  dungeon-house.  Come !  I 
ain  ready  for  the  march.  There  is  the  path.  Let  us  go  back 
by  it,  and  pick  up  our  little  baggages  at  the  inn  where  we  left 
them,  on  the  other  side  of  this  windy  wilderness  of  a  place." 

"  Yes,  yes,  uncle  !  Let  us  lose  no  time  ;  let  us  walk  fast. 
Don't  be  afraid  of  tiring  me ;  I  am  much  stronger  now." 

They  turned  into  the  same  path  by  which  they  had  ap 
proached  Porthgenna  Tower  in  the  afternoon.  By  the  time 
they  had  walked  over  a  little  more  than  the  first  hundred 
yards  of  their  journey,  Jacob,  the  gardener's  boy,  stole  out 
from  behind  the  ruinous  inclosure  at  the  north  side  of  the 
house  with  his  hoe  in  his  hand.  The  sun  had  just  set,  but 
there  was  a  fine  light  still  over  the  wide,  open  surface  of  the 
moor ;  and  Jacob  paused  to  let  the  old  man  and  his  niece  get 
farther  away  from  the  building  before  he  followed  them. 
The  housekeeper's  instructions  had  directed  him  just  to  keep 
them  in  sight,  and  no  more;  and,  if  he  happened  to  observe 
that  they  stopped  and  turned  round  to  look  behind  them,  he 
was  to  stop,  too,  and  pretend  to  be  digging  with  his  hoe,  as 
if  he  was  at  work  on  the  moorland.  Stimulated  by  the 
promise  of  a  sixpence,  if  he  was  careful  to  do  exactly  as  he 
had  been  told,  Jacob  kept  his  instructions  in  his  memory, 
and  kept  his  eye  on  the  two  strangers,  and  promised  as  fairly 
to  earn  the  reward  in  prospect  for  him  as  a  boy  could. 

"  And  now,  my  child,  I  shall  tell  you  what  it  is  I  am  sorry 
for,"  resumed  IJncle  Joseph,  as  they  proceeded  along  the 
path.  "  I  am  sorry  that  we  have  come  out  upon  this  jour 
ney,  and  run  our  little  risk,  and  had  our  little  scolding,  and 
gained  nothing.  The  word  you  said  in  my  ear,  Sarah,  when 
I  was  getting  you  out  of  the  faint  (and  you  should  have  come 
out  of  it  sooner,  if  the  muddle-headed  people  of  the  dungeon- 
house  had  been  quicker  with  the  water) — the  word  you  said 
in  my  ear  was  not  much,  but  it  was  enough  to  tell  me  that 
we  have  taken  this  journey  in  vain.  I  may  hold  my  tongue, 
I  may  make  my  best  face  at  it,  I  may  be  content  to  walk 
blindfolded  with  a  mystery  that  lets  no  peep  of  daylight 
into  my  eyes — but  it  is  not  the  less  true  that  the  one  thing 
your  heart  was  most  set  on  doing,  when  we  started  on  this 
journey,  is  the  one  thing  also  that  you  have  not  done.  I 


THE   DEAD    SECRET.  209 

know  that,  if  I  know  nothing  else ;  and  I  say  again,  it  is  a 
bad  job — yes,  yes,  upon  my  life  and  faith,  there  is  no  disguise 
to  put  upon  it;  it  is, in  your  plainest  English,  a  very  bad  job.^ 

As  he  concluded  the  expression  of  his  sympathy  in  these 
quaint  terms,  the  dread  and  distrust,  the  watchful  terror,  that 
marred  the  natural  softness  of  Sarah's  eyes,  disappeared  in 
an  expression  of  sorrowful  tenderness,  which  seemed  to  give 
back  to  them  all  their  beauty. 

"Don't  be  sorry  for  me,  uncle,"  she  said,  stopping,  and 
gently  brushing  away  with  her  hand  some  specks  of  dust 
that  lay  on  the  collar  of  his  coat.  "  I  have  suffered  so  much 
and  suffered  so  long,  that  the  heaviest  disappointments  pass 
lightly  over  me  now." 

"  I  won't  hear  you  say  it !"  cried  Uncle  Joseph.  "  You 
give  me  shocks  I  can't  bear  when  you  talk  to  me  in  this  way. 
You  shall  have  no  more  disappointments — no,  you  shall  not ! 
I,  Joseph  Buschmann,  the  Obstinate,  the  Pig-headed,  I  say 
it!" 

"The  day  when  I  shall  have  no  more  disappointments, 
uncle,  is  not  far  off  now.  Let  me  wait  a  little  longer,  and 
endure  a  little  longer:  I  have  learned  to  be  patient,  and  to 
hope  for  nothing.  Fearing  and  failing,  fearing  and  failing — 
that  has  been  my  life  ever  since  I  was  a  young  woman — the 
life  I  have  become  used  to  by  this  time.  If  you  are  surprised, 
as  I  know  you  must  be,  at  my  not  possessing  myself  of  the 
letter,  when  I  had  the  keys  of  the  Myrtle  Room  in  my  hand, 
and  when  no  one  was  near  to  stop  me,  remember  the  history 
of  my  life,  and  take  that  as  an  explanation.  Fearing  and 
failing,  fearing  and  failing — if  I  told  you  all  the  truth,  I  could 
tell  no  more  than  that.  Let  us  walk  on,  uncle." 

The  resignation  in  her  voice  and  manner  while  she  spoke 
was  the  resignation  of  despair.  It  gave  her  an  unnatural  self- 
possession,  which  altered  her,  in  the  eyes  of  Uncle  Joseph,  al 
most  past  recognition.  He  looked  at  her  in  undisguised  alarm. 

"  No  !"  he  said,  "  we  will  not  walk  on ;  we  will  walk  back 
to  the  dungeon-house ;  we  will  make  another  plan ;  we  will 
try  to  get  at  this  devil's  imp  of  a  letter  in  some  other  way. 
I  care  for  no  Munders,  no  housekeepers,  no  Betzees — I !  I 
care  for  nothing  but  the  getting  you  the  one  thing  you  want, 
and  the  taking  you  home  again  as  easy  in  your  mind  as  I  am 
myself.  Come  !  let  us  go  back." 


210  THE    DEAD    SECKET. 

"  It  is  too  late  to  go  back." 

"How  too  late?  Ah,  dismal,  dingy,  dungeon-house  of  the 
devil,  how  I  hate  you  !"  cried  Uncle  Joseph,  looking  back 
over  the  prospect,  and  shaking  both  his  fists  at  Porthgenna 
Tower. 

"  It  is  too  late,  uncle,"  she  repeated.  "  Too  late,  because 
the  opportunity  is  lost;  too  late,  because  if  I  could  bring  it 
back,  I  dare  not  go  near  the  Myrtle  Room  again.  My  last 
hope  was  to  change  the  hiding-place  of  the  letter — and  that 
last  hope  I  have  given  up.  I  have  only  one  object  in  life  left 
now ;  you  may  help  me  in  it ;  but  I  can  not  tell  you  how 
unless  you  come  on  with  me  at  once — unless  you  say  nothing 
more  about  going  back  to  Porthgenna  Tower." 

Uncle  Joseph  began  to  expostulate.  His  niece  stopped 
him  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence,  by  touching  him  on  the 
shoulder  and  pointing  to  a  particular  spot  on  the  darkening 
slope  of  the  moor  below  them. 

"  Look  !"  she  said,  "  there  is  somebody  on  the  path  behind 
us.  Is  it  a  boy  or  a  man  ?" 

Uncle  Joseph  looked  through  the  fading  light,  and  saw  a 
figure  at  some  little  distance.  It  seemed  like  the  figure  of  a 
boy,  and  he  was  apparently  engaged  in  digging  on  the  moor. 

"  Let  us  turn  round,  and  go  on  at  once,"  pleaded  Sarah, 
before  the  old  man  could  answer  her.  "I  can't  say  what  I 
want  to  say  to  you,  uncle,  until  we  are  safe  under  shelter  at 
the  inn." 

They  went  on  until  they  reached  the  highest  ground  on 
the  moor.  There  they  stopped,  and  looked  back  again.  The 
rest  of  their  way  lay  down  hill;  and  the  spot  on  which  they 
stood  was  the  last  point  from  which  a  view  could  be  obtained 
of  Porthgenna  Tower. 

"  We  have  lost  sight  of  the  boy,"  said  Uncle  Joseph,  look 
ing  over  the  ground  below  them. 

Sarah's  younger  and  sharper  eyes  bore  witness  to  the  truth 
of  her  uncle's  words — the  view  over  the  moor  was  lonely 
now,  in  every  direction,  as  far  as  she  could  see.  Before  go 
ing  on  again,  she  moved  a  little  away  from  the  old  man,  and 
looked  at  the  tower  of  the  ancient  house,  rising  heavy  and 
black  in  the  dim  light,  with  the  dark  sea  background  stretch 
ing  behind  it  like  a  wall.  "  Never  again  !"  she  whispered  to 
herself.  "  Never,  never,  never  again  !"  Her  eyes  wandered 


THE    DEAD   SECEET.  211 

away  to  the  church,  and  to  the  cemetery  inclosure  by  its  side, 
barely  distinguishable  now  in  the  shadows  of  the  coming 
night.  "  Wait  for  me  a  little  longer,"  she  said,  looking  to 
ward  the  burial-ground  with  straining  eyes,  and  pressing  her 
hand  on  her  bosom  over  the  place  where  the  book  of  Hymns 
lay  hid.  "  My  wanderings  are  nearly  at  an  end ;  the  day  for 
my  coming  home  again  is  not  far  oft*!" 

The  tears  filled  her  eyes  and  shut  out  the  view.  She  re 
joined  her  uncle,  and,  taking  his  arm  again,  drew  him  rapidly 
a  few  steps  along  the  downward  path — then  checked  herself, 
as  if  struck  by  a  sudden  suspicion,  and  walked  back  a  few 
paces  to  the  highest  ridge  of  the  ground.  "  I  am  not  sure," 
she  said,  replying  to  her  companion's  look  of  surprise — "  I  am 
not  sure  whether  we  have  seen  the  last  yet  of  that  boy  who 
was  digging  on  the  moor." 

As  the  words  passed  her  lips,  a  figure  stole  out  from  behind 
one  of  the  large  fragments  of  granite  rock  which  wrere  scat 
tered  over  the  waste  on  all  sides  of  them.  It  was  once  more 
the  figure  of  the  boy,  and  again  he  began  to  dig,  without  the 
slightest  apparent  reason,  on  the  barren  ground  at  his  feet. 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  see,"  said  Uncle  Joseph,  as  his  niece  eagerly 
directed  his  attention  to  the  suspicious  figure.  "It  is  the 
same  boy,  and  he  is  digging  still — and,  if  you  please,  what 
of  that?" 

Sarah  did  not  attempt  to  answer.  "  Let  us  get  on,"  she 
said,  hurriedly.  "  Let  us  get  on  as  fast  as  we  can  to  the  inn." 

They  turned  again,  and  took  the  downward  path  before 
them.  In  less  than  a  minute  they  had  lost  sight  of  Porth- 
genna  Tower,  of  the  old  church,  and  of  the  whole  of  the  west 
ern  view.  Still,  though  there  was  now  nothing  but  the  blank 
darkening  moorland  to  look  back  at,  Sarah  persisted  in  stop 
ping  at  frequent  intervals,  as  long  as  there  was  any  light  left, 
to  glance  behind  her.  She  made  no  remark,  she  offered  no 
excuse  for  thus  delaying  the  journey  back  to  the  inn.  It  was 
only  when  they  arrived  within  sight  of  the  lights  of  the  post- 
town  that  she  ceased  looking  back,  and  that  she  spoke  to  her 
companion.  The  few  words  she  addressed  to  him  amounted 
to  nothing  more  than  a  request  that  he  would  ask  for  a 
private  sitting-room  as  soon  as  they  reached  their  place  of 
sojourn  for  the  night. 

They  ordered  beds  at  the  inn,  and  were  shown  into  the 


212  THE   DEAD   SECKET. 

best  parlor  to  wait  for  supper.  The  moment  they  were 
alone,  Sarah  drew  a  chair  close  to  the  old  man's  side,  and 
whispered  these  words  in  his  ear — 

"  Uncle !  we  have  been  followed  every  step  of  the  way 
from  Porthgenna  Tower  to  this  place." 

"So!  so!  And  how  do  you  know  that?"  inquired  Uncle 
Joseph. 

"Hush  !  Somebody  may  be  listening  at  the  door,  some 
body  may  be  creeping  under  the  window.  You  noticed  that 
boy  who  was  digging  on  the  moor  ? — " 

"  Bah  !  Why,  Sarah  !  do  you  frighten  yourself,  do  you  try 
to  frighten  me  about  a  boy  ?" 

"  Oh,  not  so  loud !  not  so  loud !  They  have  laid  a  trap  for 
us.  Uncle !  I  suspected  it  when  we  first  entered  the  doors 
of  Porthgenna  Tower;  I  am  sure  of  it  now.  What  did  all 
that  whispering  mean  between  the  housekeeper  and  the 
steward  when  we  first  got  into  the  hall?  I  watched  their 
faces,  and  I  know  they  were  talking  about  us.  They  were 
not  half  surprised  enough  at  seeing  us,  not  half  surprised 
enough  at  hearing  what  we  wanted.  Don't  laugh  at  me, 
uncle  !  There  is  real  danger :  it  is  no  fancy  of  mine.  The 
keys — come  closer — the  keys  of  the  north  rooms  have  got 
new  labels  on  them;  the  doors  have  all  been  numbered. 
Think  of  that !  Think  of  the  whispering  when  we  came  in, 
and  the  whispering  afterward,  in  the  housekeeper's  room, 
when  you  got  up  to  go  away.  You  noticed  the  sudden 
change  in  that  man's  behavior  after  the  housekeeper  spoke 
to  him — you  must  have  noticed  it?  They  let  us  in  too  easily, 
and  they  let  us  out  too  easily.  No,  no !  I  am  not  deluding 
myself.  There  was  some  secret  motive  for  letting  us  into 
the  house,  and  some  secret  motive  for  letting  us  out  again. 
That  boy  on  the  moor  betrays  it,  if  nothing  else  does.  I  saw 
him  following  us  all  the  way  here,  as  plainly  as  I  see  you. 
I  am  not  frightened  without  reason,  this  time.  As  surely  as 
we  two  are  together  in  this  room,  there  is  a  trap  laid  for  us 
by  the  people  at  Porthgenna  Tower !" 

"  A  trap  ?  What  trap  ?  And  how  ?  and  why  ?  and  where 
fore  ?"  inquired  Uncle  Joseph,  expressing  bewilderment  by 
waving  both  his  hands  rapidly  to  and  fro  close  before  his 
eyes. 

"  They  want  to  make  me  speak,  they  want  to  follow  me, 


THE    DEAD   SECEET.  213 

they  want  to  find  out  where  I  go,  they  want  to  ask  me  ques 
tions,"  she  answered,  trembling  violently.  "  Uncle  !  you  re 
member  what  I  told  you  of  those  crazed  words  I  said  to  Mrs. 
Frankland — I  ought  to  have  cut  my  tongue  out  rather  than 
have  spoken  them  !  They  have  done  dreadful  mischief — I 
am  certain  of  it — dreadful  mischief  already.  I  have  made 
myself  suspected  !  I  shall  be  questioned,  if  Mrs.  Frankland 
finds  me  out  again.  She  will  try  to  find  me  out — we  shall  be 
inquired  after  here — we  must  destroy  all  trace  of  where  we 
go  to  next — we  must  make  sure  that  the  people  at  this  inn 
can  answer  no  questions — oh,  Uncle  Joseph !  whatever  we 
do,  let  us  make  sure  of  that !" 

"  Good,"  said  the  old  man,  nodding  his  head  with  a  per 
fectly  self-satisfied  air.  "  Be  quite  easy,  my  child,  and  leave 
it  to  me  to  make  sure.  When  you  are  gone  to  bed,  I  shall 
send  for  the  landlord,  and  I  shall  say, '  Get  us  a  little  car 
riage,  if  you  please,  Sir,  to  take  us  back  again  to-morrow  to 
the  coach  for  Truro.'  " 

"  No,  no,  no  !  we  must  not  hire  a  carriage  here." 

"  And  I  say,  yes,  yes,  yes  !  We  will  hire  a  carriage  here, 
because  I  will,  first  of  all,  make  sure  with  the  landlord.  List 
en.  I  shall  say  to  him,  *  If  there  come  after  us  people  with 
inquisitive  looks  in  their  eyes  and  uncomfortable  questions 
in  their  mouths — if  you  please,  Sir,  hold  your  tongue.'  Then 
I  shall  wink  my  eye,  I  shall  lay  my  finger,  so,  to  the  side  of 
my  nose,  I  shall  give  one  little  laugh  that  means  much — and, 
crick  !  crack  !  I  have  made  sure  of  the  landlord  !  and  there  is 
an  end  of  it !" 

"  We  must  not  trust  the  landlord,  uncle — we  must  not 
trust  any  body.  When  wre  leave  this  place  to-morrow,  we 
must  leave  it  on  foot,  and  take  care  no  living  soul  follows  us. 
Look !  here  is  a  map  of  West  Cornwall  hanging  up  on  the 
wall,  w^ith  roads  and  cross-roads  all  marked  on  it.  We  may 
find  out  beforehand  what  direction  we  ought  to  walk  in.  A 
night's  rest  will  give  me  all  the  strength  I  want ;  and  we  have 
no  luggage  that  we  can  not  carry.  You  have  nothing  but 
your  knapsack,  and  I  have  nothing  but  the  little  carpet-bag 
you  lent  me.  We  can  walk  six,  seven,  even  ten  miles,  with 
resting  by  the  way.  Come  here  and  look  at  the  map — pray, 
pray  come  and  look  at  the  map  !" 

Protesting  against  the  abandonment  of  his  own  project, 


214  THE    DEAD   SECKET. 

which  he  declared,  and  sincerely  believed,  to  be  perfectly 
adapted  to  meet  the  emergency  in  which  they  were  placed, 
Uncle  Joseph  joined  his  niece  in  examining'  the  map.  A  lit 
tle  beyond  the  post-town,  a  cross-road  was  marked,  running 
northward  at  right  angles  with  the  highway  that  led  to 
Truro,  and  conducting  to  another  road,  which  looked  large 
enough  to  be  a  coach-road,  and  which  led  through  a  town  of 
sufficient  importance  to  have  its  name  printed  in  capital  let 
ters.  On  discovering  this,  Sarah  proposed  that  they  should 
follow  the  cross-road  (which  did  not  appear  on  the  map  to 
be  more  than  five  or  six  miles  long)  on  foot,  abstaining  from 
taking  any  conveyance  until  they  had  arrived  at  the  town 
marked  in  capital  letters.  By  pursuing  this  course,  they 
would  destroy  all  trace  of  their  progress  after  leaving  the 
post-town  —  unless,  indeed,  they  were  followed  on  foot  from 
this  place,  as  they  had  been  followed  over  the  moor.  In  the 
event  of  any  fresh  difficulty  of  that  sort  occurring,  Sarah  had 
no  better  remedy  to  propose  than  lingering  on  the  road  till 
after  nightfall,  and  leaving  it  to  the  darkness  to  baffle  the 
vigilance  of  any  person  who  might  be  watching  in  the  dis 
tance  to  see  where  they  went. 

TThcle  Joseph  shrugged  his  shoulders  resignedly  when  his 
niece  gave  her  reasons  for  wishing  to  continue  the  journey  on 
foot.  "  There  is  much  tramping  through  dust,  and  much  look 
ing  behind  us,  and  much  spying  and  peeping  and  suspecting 
and  roundabout  walking  in  all  this,"  he  said.  "  It  is  by  no 
means  so  easy,  my  child,  as  making  sure  of  the  landlord,  and 
sitting  at  our  ease  on  the  cushions  of  the  stage-coach.  But  if 
you  will  have  it  so,  so  shall  it  be.  What  you  please,  Sarah ; 
what  you  please  —  that  is  all  the  opinion  of  my  own  that  I 
allow  myself  to  have  till  we  are  back  again  at  Truro,  and  are 
rested  for  good  and  all  at  the  end  of  our  journey." 

"At  the  end  of  your  journey,  uncle  :  I  dare  not  say  at  the 
end  of  mine." 

Those  few  words  changed  the  old  man's  face  in  an  instant. 
His  eyes  fixed  reproachfully  on  his  niece,  his  ruddy  cheeks  lost 
their  color,  his  restless  hands  dropped  suddenly  to  his  sides. 
"  Sarah  !"  he  said,  in  a  low,  quiet  tone,  which  seemed  to  have 
no  relation  to  the  voice  in  which  he  spoke  on  ordinary  oc 
casions — "  Sarah  !  have  you  the  heart  to  leave  me  again  ?" 

"  Have  I  the  courage  to  stay  in  Cornwall  ?    That  is  the 


THE    DEAD   SECEET.  215 

question  to  ask  me,  uncle.  If  I  had  only  my  own  heart  to 
consult,  oh  !  how  gladly  I  should  live  under  your  roof — live 
under  it,  if  you  would  let  me,  to  my  dying  day  !  But  my  lot 
is  not  cast  for  such  rest  and  such  happiness  as  that.  The  fear 
that  I  have  of  being  questioned  by  Mrs.  Frankland  drives  me 
away  from  Porthgenna,  away  from  Cornwall,  away  from  you. 
Even  my  dread  of  the  letter  being  found  is  hardly  so  great 
now  as  my  dread  of  being  traced  and  questioned.  I  have 
said  what  I  ought  not  to  have  said  already.  If  I  find  myself 
in  Mrs.  Frankland's  presence  again,  there  is  nothing  that  she 
might  not  draw  out  of  me.  Oh,  my  God  !  to  think  of  that 
kind  -  hearted,  lovely  young  woman,  who  brings  happiness 
with  her  wherever  she  goes,  bringing  terror  to  me  !  Terror 
when  her  pitying  eyes  look  at  me;  terror  when  her  kind 
voice  speaks  to  me ;  terror  when  her  tender  hand  touches 
mine  !  Uncle  !  when  Mrs.  Frankland  comes  to  Porthgenna, 
the  very  children  will  crowd  about  her  —  every  creature  in 
that  poor  village  will  be  drawn  toward  the  light  of  her 
beauty  and  her  goodness,  as  if  it  was  the  sunshine  of  Heaven 
itself;  and  I — I,  of  all  living  beings — must  shun  her  as  if  she 
was  a  pestilence !  The  day  when  she  comes  into  Cornwall 
is  the  day  when  I  must  go  out  of  it — the  day  when  we  two 
must  say  farewell.  Don't,  don't  add  to  my  wretchedness  by 
asking  me  if  I  have  the  heart  to  leave  you !  For  my  dead 
mother's  sake,  Uncle  Joseph,  believe  that  I  am  grateful,  be 
lieve  that  it  is  not  my  own  will  that  takes  me  away  when  I 
leave  you  again."  She  sank  down  on  a  sofa  near  her,  laid 
her  head,  with  one  long,  deep  sigh,  wearily  on  the  pillow,  and 
spoke  no  more. 

The  tears  gathered  thick  in  Uncle  Joseph's  eyes  as  he  sat 
down  by  her  side.  He  took  one  of  her  hands,  and  patted  and 
stroked  it  as  though  he  were  soothing  a  little  child.  "  I  will 
bear  it  as  well  as  I  can,  Sarah,"  he  whispered,  faintly,  "  and  I 
will  say  no  more.  You  will  write  to  me  sometimes,  when  I 
am  left  all  alone  ?  You  will  give  a  little  time  to  Uncle  Joseph, 
for  the  poor  dead  mother's  sake  ?" 

She  turned  toward  him  suddenly,  and  threw  both  her  arms 
round  his  neck  with  a  passionate  energy  that  was  strangely 
at  variance  with  her  naturally  quiet  self-repressed  character. 
"  I  will  write  often,  dear ;  I  will  write  always,"  she  whispered, 
with  her  head  on  his  bosom.  "  If  I  am  ever  in  any  trouble 

K2 


216  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

or  danger,  you  shall  know  it."  She  stopped  confusedly,  as 
if  the  freedom  of  her  own  words  and  actions  terrified  her,  un 
clasped  her  arms,  and,  turning  away  abruptly  from  the  old 
man,  hid  her  face  in  her  hands.  The  tyranny  of  the  restraint 
that  governed  her  whole  life  was  all  expressed — how  sadly, 
how  eloquently ! — in  that  one  little  action. 

Uncle  Joseph  rose  from  the  sofa,  and  walked  gently  back 
ward  and  forward  in  the  room,  looking  anxiously  at  his  niece, 
but  not  speaking  to  her.  After  a  while  the  servant  came  in 
to  prepare  the  table  for  supper.  It  was  a  welcome  interrup 
tion,  for  it  obliged  Sarah  to  make  an  effort  to  recover  her 
self-possession.  After  the  meal  was  over,  the  uncle  and  niece 
separated  at  once  for  the  night,  without  venturing  to  ex 
change  another  word  on  the  subject  of  their  approaching 
separation. 

When  they  met  the  next  morning,  the  old  man  had  not  re 
covered  his  spirits.  Although  he  tried  to  speak  as  cheerfully 
as  usual,  there  was  something  strangely  subdued  and  quiet 
about  him  in  voice,  look,  and  manner.  Sarah's  heart  smote 
her  as  she  saw  how  sadly  he  was  altered  by  the  prospect  of 
their  parting.  She  said  a  few  words  of  consolation  and  hope; 
but  he  only  waved  his  hand  negatively,  in  his  quaint  foreign 
manner,  and  hastened  out  of  the  room  to  find  the  landlord 
and  ask  for  the  bill. 

Soon  after  breakfast,  to  the  surprise  of  the  people  at  the 
inn,  they  set  forth  to  continue  their  journey  on  foot,  Uncle 
Joseph  carrying  his  knapsack  on  his  back,  and  his  niece's 
carpet-bag  in  his  hand.  When  they  arrived  at  the  turning 
that  led  into  the  cross-road,  they  both  stopped  and  looked 
back.  This  time  they  saw  nothing  to  alarm  them.  There 
was  no  living  creature  visible  on  the  broad  highway  over 
which  they  had  been  walking  for  the  last  quarter  of  an  hour 
after  leaving  the  inn. 

"  The  way  is  clear,"  said  Uncle  Joseph,  as  they  turned  into 
the  cross-road.  "  Whatever  might  have  happened  yesterday, 
there  is  nobody  following  us  now." 

"  Nobody  that  we  can  see,"  answered  Sarah.  "  But  I  dis 
trust  the  very  stones  by  the  road-side.  Let  us  look  back  often, 
uncle,  before  we  allow  ourselves  to  feel  secure.  The  more  I 
think  of  it,  the  more  I  dread  the  snare  that  is  laid  for  us  by 
those  people  at  Porthgenna  Tower." 


, 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  217 

"  You  say  its,  Sarah.  Why  should  they  lay  a  snare  for 
me  ?" 

"  Because  they  have  seen  you  in  my  company.  You  will 
be  safer  from  them  when  we  are  parted ;  and  that  is  another 
reason,  Uncle  Joseph,  why  we  should  bear  the  misfortune  of 
our  separation  as  patiently  as  we  can." 

"  Are  you  going  far,  very  far  away,  Sarah,  when  you  leave 
me?" 

"  I  dare  not  stop  on  my  journey  till  I  can  feel  that  I  am    I 
lost  in  the  great  world  of  London.    Don't  look  at  me  so  sad-   ) 
ly  !    I  shall  never  forget  my  promise ;  I  shall  never  forget  to 
write.     I  have  friends — not  friends  like  you,  but  still  friends 
— to  whom  I  can  go.    I  can  feel  safe  from  discovery  nowhere 
but  in  London.     My  danger  is  great — it  is,  it  is,  indeed  !     I 
know,  from  what  I  have  seen  at  Porthgenna,  that  Mrs.  Frank- 
land  has  an  interest  already  in  finding  me  out ;  and  I  am  cer 
tain  that  this  interest  will  be  increased  tenfold  when  she 
hears  (as  she  is  sure  to  hear)  of  what  happened  yesterday  in 
the  house.    If  they  should  trace  you  to  Truro,  oh,  be  careful,   j 
uncle !  be  careful  how  you  deal  with  them ;  be  careful  how 
you  answer  their  questions  !"  / 

"I  will  answer  nothing,  my  child.  But  tell  me  —  for  I 
want  to  know  all  the  little  chances  that  there  are  of  your 
coming  back — tell  me,  if  Mrs.  Frankland  finds  the  letter,  what 
shall  you  do  then  ?" 

At  that  question,  Sarah's  hand,  which  had  been  resting 
languidly  on  her  uncle's  arm  while  they  walked  together, 
closed  on  it  suddenly.  "  Even  if  Mrs.  Frankland  gets  into 
the  Myrtle  Room,"  she  said,  stopping  and  looking  affrightedly 
about  her  while  she  replied,  "  she  may  not  find  the  letter.  It 
is  folded  up  so  small ;  it  is  hidden  in  such  an  unlikely  place." 

"But  if  she  does  find  it?" 

"If  she  does,  there  will  be  more  reason  than  ever  for  my 
being  miles  and  miles  away." 

As  she  gave  that  answer,  she  raised  both  her  hands  to  her 
heart,  and  pressed  them  firmly  over  it.  A  slight  distortion 
passed  rapidly  across  her  features ;  her  eyes  closed ;  her  face 
flushed  all  over — then  turned  paler  again  than  ever.  She 
drew  out  her  pocket-handkerchief,  and  passed  it  several  times 
over  her  face,  on  which  the  perspiration  had  gathered  thickly. 
The  old  man,  who  had  looked  behind  him  when  his  niece 


218  THE    DEAD   SECliET. 

stopped,  under  the  impression  that  she  had  just  seen  some 
body  following  them,  observed  this  latter  action,  and  asked 
if  she  felt  too  hot.  She  shook  her  head,  and  took  his  arm 
again  to  go  on,  breathing,  as  he  fancied,  with  some  difficulty. 
He  proposed  that  they  should  sit  down  by  the  road-side  and 
rest  a  little ;  but  she  only  answered, "  Not  yet."  So  they 
went  on  for  another  half-hour;  then  turned  to  look  behind 
them  again,  and,  still  seeing  nobody,  sat  down  for  a  little 
whjle  to  rest  on  a  bank  by  the  way-side. 

After  stopping  twice  more  at  convenient  resting-places, 
they  reached  the  end  of  the  cross-road.  On  the  highway  to 
which  it  led  them  they  were  overtaken  by  a  man  driving  an 
empty  cart,  who  offered  to  give  them  a  lift  as  far  as  the  next 
town.  They  accepted  the  proposal  gratefully ;  and,  arriving 
at  the  town,  after  a  drive  of  half  an  hour,  were  set  down  at 
the  door  of  the  principal  inn.  Finding  on  inquiry  at  this 
place  that  they  were  too  late  for  the  coach,  they  took  a  pri 
vate  conveyance,  which  brought  them  to  Truro  late  in  the 
afternoon.  Throughout  the  whole  of  the  journey,  from  the 
time  when  they  left  the  post-town  of  Porthgenna  to  the  time 
when  they  stopped,  by  Sarah's  desire,  at  the  coach-office  in 
Truro,  they  had  seen  nothing  to  excite  the  smallest  suspicion 
that  their  movements  were  being  observed.  None  of  the 
people  whom  they  saw  in  the  inhabited  places,  or  whom  they 
passed  on  the  road,  appeared  to  take  more  than  the  most  cas 
ual  notice  of  them. 

It  was  five  o'clock  when  they  entered  the  office  at  Truro 
to  ask  about  conveyances  running  in  the  direction  of  Exeter. 
They  were  informed  that  a  coach  would  start  in  an  hour's 
time,  and  that  another  coach  would  pass  through  Truro  at 
eight  o'clock  the  next  morning. 

"  You  will  not  go  to-night  ?"  pleaded  Uncle  Joseph.  "  You 
will  wait,  my  child,  and  rest  with  me  till  to-morrow  ?" 

"I  had  better  go,  uncle,  while  I  have  some  little  resolution 
left,"  was  the  sad  answer. 

"  But  you  are  so  pale,  so  tired,  so  weak." 

"  I  shall  never  be  stronger  than  I  am  now.  Don't  set  my 
own  heart  against  me  !  It  is  hard  enough  to  go  without  that." 

Uncle  Joseph  sighed,  and  said  no  more.  He  led  the  way 
across  the  road  and  down  the  by-street  to  his  house.  The 
cheerful  man  in  the  shop  was  polishing  a  piece  of  wood  be- 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  219 

hind  the  counter,  sitting  in  the  same  position  in  which  Sarah 
had  seen  him  when  she  first  looked  through  the  window  on 
her  arrival  at  Truro.  He  had  good  news  for  his  master  of 
orders  received,  but  Uncle  Joseph  listened  absently  to  all 
that  his  shopman  said,  and  hastened  into  the  little  back  par 
lor  without  the  faintest  reflection  of  its  customary  smile  on 
his  face.  "  If  I  had  no  shop  and  no  orders,  I  might  go  away 
with  you,  Sarah,"  he  said  when  he  and  his  niece  were  alone. 
"Aie!  Aie!  the  setting  out  on  this  journey  has  been  the 
only  happy  part  of  it.  Sit  down  and  rest,  my  child.  I  must 
put  my  best  face  upon  it,  and  get  you  some  tea." 

When  the  tea-tray  had  been  placed  on  the  table,  he  left  the 
room,  and  returned,  after  an  absence  of  some  little  time,  with 
a  basket  in  his  hand.  When  the  porter  came  to  carry  the 
luggage  to  the  coach-office,  he  would  not  allow  the  basket  to 
be  taken  away  at  the  same  time,  but  sat  down  and  placed  it 
between  his  feet  while  he  occupied  himself  in  pouring  out  a 
cup  of  tea  for  his  niece. 

The  musical  box  still  hung  at  his  side  in  its  traveling-case 
of  leather.  As  soon  as  he  had  poured  out  the  cup  of  tea,  he 
unbuckled  the  strap,  removed  the  covering  from  the  box,  and 
placed  it  on  the  table  near  him.  His  eyes  wandered  hesi 
tatingly  toward  Sarah,  as  he  did  this ;  he  leaned  forward,  his 
lips  trembling  a  little,  his  hand  trifling  uneasily  with  the 
empty  leather  case  that  now  lay  on  his  knees,  and  said  to  her 
in  low,  unsteady  tones — 

"  You  will  hear  a  little  farewell  song  of  Mozart  ?  It  may 
be  a  long  time,  Sarah,  before  he  can  play  to  you  again.  A 
little  farewell  song,  my  child,  before  you  go  ?" 

His  hand  stole  up  gently  from  the  leather  case  to  the  table, 
and  set  the  box  playing  the  same  air  that  Sarah  had  heard 
on  the  evening  when  she  entered  the  parlor,  after  her  jour 
ney  from  Somersetshire,  and  found  him  sitting  alone  listen 
ing  to  the  music.  What  depths  of  sorrow  there  were  now 
in  those  few  simple  notes  !  What  mournful  memories  of  past 
times  gathered  and  swelled  in  the  heart  at  the  bidding  of 
that  one  little  plaintive  melody !  Sarah  could  not  summon 
the  courage  to  lift  her  eyes  to  the  old  man's  face — they  might 
have  betrayed  to  him  that  she  was  thinking  of  the  days  when 
the  box  that  he  treasured  so  dearly  played  the  air  they  were 
listening  to  now  by  the  bedside  of  his  dying  child. 


220  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

The  stop  had  not  been  set,  and  the  melody,  after  it  had 
come  to  an  end,  began  again.  But  now,  after  the  first  few 
bars,  the  notes  succeeded  one  another  more  and  more  slowly 
—the  air  grew  less  and  less  recognizable — dropped  at  last  to 
three  notes,  following  each  other  at  long  intervals  —  then 
ceased  altogether.  The  chain  that  governed  the  action  of 
the  machinery  had  all  run  out;  Mozart's  farewell  song  was 
silenced  on  a  sudden,  like  a  voice  that  had  broken  down. 

The  old  man  started,  looked  earnestly  at  his  niece,  and 
threw  the  leather  case  over  the  box  as  if  he  desired  to  shut 
out  the  sight  of  it.  "  The  music  stopped  so,"  he  whispered 
to  himself,  in  his  own  language,  "  when  little  Joseph  died ! 
Don't  go  !"  he  added  quickly,  in  English,  almost  before  Sarah 
had  time  to  feel  surprised  at  the  singular  change  that  had 
taken  place  in  his  voice  and  manner.  "Don't  go!  Think 
better  of  it,  and  stop  with  me." 

"  I  have  no  choice,  uncle,  but  to  leave  you — indeed,  indeed 
I  have  not !  You  don't  think  me  ungrateful  ?  Comfort  me 
at  the  last  moment  by  telling  me  that !" 

He  pressed  her  hand  in  silence,  and  kissed  her  on  both 
cheeks.  "  My  heart  is  very  heavy  for  you,  Sarah,"  he  said. 
"  The  fear  has  come  to  me  that  it  is  not  for  your  own  good 
that  you  are  going  away  from  Uncle  Joseph  now !" 

"I  have  no  choice,"  she  sadly  repeated — "no  choice  but  to 
leave  you." 

"  It  is  time,  then,  to  get  the  parting  over."  The  cloud  of 
doubt  and  fear  that  had  altered  his  face,  from  the  moment 
when  the  music  came  to  its  untimely  end,  seemed  to  darken, 
when  he  had  said  those  words.  He  took  up  the  basket  which 
he  had  kept  so  carefully  at  his  feet,  and  led  the  way  out  in 
silence. 

They  were  barely  in  time ;  the  driver  was  mounting  to  his 
seat  when  they  got  to  the  coach-office.  "  God  preserve  you, 
my  child,  and  send  you  back  to  me  soon,  safe  and  well.  Take 
the  basket  on  your  lap ;  there  are  some  little  things  in  it  for 
your  journey."  His  voice  faltered  at  the  last  word,  and 
Sarah  felt  his  lips  pressed  on  her  hand.  The  next  instant  the 
door  was  closed,  and  she  saw  him  dimly  through  her  tears 
standing  among  the  idlers  on  the  pavement,  who  were  wait 
ing  to  see  the  coach  drive  off. 

By  the  time  they  were  a  little  way  out  of  the  town  she  was 


THE   DEAD    SECRET.  221 

able  to  dry  her  eyes  and  look  into  the  basket.  It  contained 
a  pot  of  jam  and  a  horn  spoon,  a  small  inlaid  work-box  from 
the  stock  in  the  shop,  a  piece  of  foreign-looking  cheese,  a 
French  roll,  and  a  little  paper  packet  of  money,  with  the 
words  "  Don't  be  angry "  written  on  it,  in  Uncle  Joseph's 
hand.  Sarah  closed  the  cover  of  the  basket  again,  and  drew 
down  her  veil.  She  had  not  felt  the  sorrow  of  the  parting 
in  all  its  bitterness  until  that  moment.  Oh,  how  hard  it  was 
to  be  banished  from  the  sheltering  home  which  was  offered 
to  her  by  the  one  friend  she  had  left  in  the  world ! 

While  that  thought  was  in  her  mind,  the  old  man  was  just 
closing  the  door  of  his  lonely  parlor.  His  eyes  wandered  to 
the  tea-tray  on  the  table  and  to  Sarah's  empty  cup,  and  he 
whispered  to  himself  in  his  own  language  again — 

"  The  music  stopped  so  when  little  Joseph  died !" 


THE    DEAD   SECKET. 


BOOK    V. 

CHAPTER  I. 

AN    OLD   FRIEND    AND   A   NEW   SCHEME. 

IN  declaring,  positively,  that  the  boy  whom  she  had  seen 
digging  on  the  moor  had  followed  her  uncle  and  herself  to 
the  post-town  of  Porthgenna,  Sarah  had  asserted  the  literal 
truth.  Jacob  had  tracked  them  to  the  inn,  had  waited  a 
little  while  about  the  door,  to  ascertain  if  there  was  any  like 
lihood  of  their  continuing  their  journey  that  evening,  and 
had  then  returned  to  Porthgenna  Tower  to  make  his  report, 
and  to  claim  his  promised  reward. 

The  same  night,  the  housekeeper  and  the  steward  devoted 
themselves  to  the  joint  production  of  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Frank- 
land,  informing  her  of  all  that  had  taken  place,  from  the  time 
when  the  visitors  first  made  their  appearance,  to  the  time 
when  the  gardener's  boy  had  followed  them  to  the  door  of 
the  inn.  The  composition  was  plentifully  garnished  through 
out  with  the  flowers  of  Mr.  Munder's  rhetoric,  and  was,  by  a 
necessary  consequence,  inordinately  long  as  a  narrative,  and 
hopelessly  confused  as  a  statement  of  facts. 

It  is  unnecessary  to  say  that  the  letter,  with  all  its  faults 
and  absurdities,  was  read  by  Mrs.  Franklanct  with  the  deep 
est  interest.  Her  husband  and  Mr.  Orridge,  to  both  of  whom 
she  communicated  its  contents,  were  as  much  amazed  and 
perplexed  by  it  as  she  was  herself.  Although  the  discovery 
of  Mrs.  Jazeph's  departure  for  Cornwall  had  led  them  to  con 
sider  it  within  the  range  of  possibility  that  she  might  appear 
at  Porthgenna,  and  although  the  housekeeper  had  been  writ 
ten  to  by  Rosamond  under  the  influence  of  that  idea,  neither 
she  nor  her  husband  were  quite  prepared  for  such  a  speedy 
confirmation  of  their  suspicions  as  they  had  now  received. 
Their  astonishment,  however,  on  first  ascertaining  the  gen 
eral  purport  of  the  letter,  was  as  nothing  compared  with  their 
astonishment  when  they  came  to  those  particular  passages  in 
it  which  referred  to  IJncle  Joseph.  The  fresh  element  of 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  223 

complication  imparted  to  the  thickening  mystery  of  Mrs.  Ja- 
zeph  and  the  Myrtle  Room,  by  the  entrance  of  the  foreign 
stranger  on  the  scene,  and  by  his  intimate  connection  with 
the  extraordinary  proceedings  that  had  taken  place  in  the 
house,  fairly  baffled  them  all.  The  letter  was  read  again  and 
again;  was  critically  dissected  paragraph  by  paragraph;  was 
carefully  annotated  by  the  doctor,  for  the  purpose  of  extri 
cating  all  the  facts  that  it  contained  from  the  mass  of  un 
meaning  words  in  which  Mr.Munder  had  artfully  and  length 
ily  involved  them;  and  was  finally  pronounced,  after  all  the  i 
pains  that  had  been  taken  to  render  it  intelligible,  to  be  the 
most  mysterious  and  bewildering  document  that  mortal  pen 
had  ever  produced. 

The  first  practical  suggestion,  after  the  letter  had  been 
laid  aside  in  despair,  emanated  from  Rosamond.  She  pro 
posed  that  her  husband  and  herself  (the  baby  included,  as  a 
matter  of  course)  should  start  at  once  for  Porthgenna,  to 
question  the  servants  minutely  about  the  proceedings  of  Mrs. 
Jazeph  and  the  foreign  stranger  who  had  accompanied  her, 
and  to  examine  the  premises  on  the  north  side  of  the  house, 
with  a  view  to  discovering  a  clew  to  the  locality  of  the  Myr 
tle  Room,  while  events  were  still  fresh  in  the  memories  of 
witnesses.  The  plan  thus  advocated,  however  excellent  in 
itself,  was  opposed  by  Mr.  Orridge  on  medical  grounds.  Mrs. 
Frankland  had  caught  cold  by  exposing  herself  too  carelessly 
to  the  air,  on  first  leaving  her  room,  and  the  doctor  refused 
to  grant  her  permission  to  travel  for  at  least  a  week  to  come, 
if  not  for  a  longer  period. 

The  next  proposal  came  from  Mr.  Frankland.    He  declared    i 
it  to  be  perfectly  clear  to  his  mind  that  the  only  chance  of 
penetrating  the  mystery  of  the  Myrtle  Room  rested  entirely 
on  the  discovery  of  some  means  of  communicating  with  Mrs. 
Jazeph.     He  suggested  that  they  should  not  trouble  them 
selves  to  think  of  any  thing  unconnected  with  the  accom 
plishment  of  this  purpose ;  and  he  proposed  that  the  servant 
then  in  attendance  on  him  at  West  Winston — a  man  who 
had  been  in  his  employment  for  many  years,  and  whose  zeal,    i 
activity,  and  intelligence  could  be  thoroughly  depended  on — 
should  be  sent  to  Porthgenna  forthwith,  to  start  the  neces-   ! 
sary  inquiries,  and  to  examine  the  premises  carefully  on  the 
north  side  of  the  house. 


224  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

This  advice  was  immediately  acted  on.  At  an  hour's  no 
tice  the  servant  started  for  Cornwall,  thoroughly  instructed 
as  to  what  he  was  to  do,  and  well  supplied  with  money,  in 
case  he  found  it  necessary  to  employ  many  persons  in  making 
the  proposed  inquiries.  In  due  course  of  time  he  sent  a  re 
port  of  his  proceedings  to  his  master.  It  proved  to  be  of  a 
most  discouraging  nature. 

•  All  trace  of  Mrs.  Jazeph  and  her  companion  had  been  lost 
at  the  post-town  of  Porthgenna.  Investigations  had  been 
made  in  every  direction,  but  no  reliable  information  had 
been  obtained.  People  in  totally  diiferent  parts  of  the  coun 
try  declared  readily  enough  that  they  had  seen  two  persons 
answering  to  the  description  of  the  lady  in  the  dark  dress 
and  the  old  foreigner;  but  when  they  wrere  called  upon  to 
state  the  direction  in  which  the  two  strangers  were  travel 
ing,  the  answers  received  turned  out  to  be  of  the  most  puz 
zling  and  contradictory  kind.  No  pains  had  been  spared,  no 
necessary  expenditure  of  money  had  been  grudged ;  but,  so 
far,  no  results  of  the  slightest  value  had  been  obtained. 
Whether  the  lady  and  the  foreigner  had  gone  east,  west, 
north,  or  south,  was  more  than  Mr.  Frankland's  servant,  at 
the  present  stage  of  the  proceedings,  could  take  it  on  him 
self  to  say. 

The  report  of  the  examination  of  the  north  rooms  was  not 
more  satisfactory.  Here,  again,  nothing  of  any  importance 
could  be  discovered.  The  servant  had  ascertained  that  there 
were  twenty-two  rooms  on  the  uninhabited  side  of  the  house 
— six  on  the  ground-floor  opening  into  the  deserted  garden, 
eight  on  the  first  floor,  and  eight  above  that,  on  the  second 
story.  He  had  examined  all  the  doors  carefully  from  top  to 
bottom,  and  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  none  of  them 
had  been  opened.  The  evidence  aiforded  by  the  lady's  own 
actions  led  to  nothing.  She  had,  if  the  testimony  of  the  serv 
ant  could  be  trusted,  dropped  the  keys  on  the  floor  of  the 
hall.  She  was  found,  as  the  housekeeper  and  the  steward  as 
serted,  lying,  in  a  fainting  condition,  at  the  top  of  the  land 
ing  of  the  first  flight  of  stairs.  The  door  opposite  to  her,  in 
this  position,  showed  no  more  traces  of  having  been  recently 
opened  than  any  of  the  other  doors  of  the  other  twenty-one 
rooms.  Whether  the  room  to  which  she  wished  to  gain  ac 
cess  was  one  of  the  eight  on  the  first  floor,  or  whether  she 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  225 

had  fainted  on  her  way  up  to  the  higher  range  of  eight  rooms 
on  the  second  floor,  it  was  impossible  to  determine. 

The  only  conclusions  that  could  be  fairly  drawn  from  the 
events  that  had  taken  place  in  the  house  were  two  in  num 
ber.  First,  it  might  be  taken  for  granted  that  the  lady  had 
been  disturbed  before  she  had  been  able  to  use  the  keys  to 
gain  admission  to  the  Myrtle  Room.  Secondly,  it  might  be 
assumed,  from  the  position  in  which  she  was  found  on  the 
stairs,  and  from  the  evidence  relating  to  the  dropping  of  the 
keys,  that  the  Myrtle  Room  was  not  on  the  ground-floor,  but 
was  one  of  the  sixteen  rooms  situated  on  the  first  and  second 
stories.  Beyond  this  the  writer  of  the  report  had  nothing 
further  to  mention,  except  that  he  had  ventured  to  decide  on 
waiting  at  Porthgenna,  in  the  event  of  his  master  having  any 
further  instructions  to  communicate. 

What  was  to  be  done  next  ?  That  was  necessarily  the  first 
question  suggested  by  the  servant's  announcement  of  the  un 
successful  result  of  his  inquiries  at  Porthgenna.  How  it  was 
to  be  answered  was  not  very  easy  to  discover.  Mrs.  Frank- 
land  had  nothing  to  suggest,  Mr.  Frankland  had  nothing  to 
suggest,  the  doctor  had  nothing  to  suggest.  The  more  in 
dustriously  they  all  three  hunted  through  their  minds  for  a 
new  idea,  the  less  chance  there  seemed  to  be  of  their  succeed 
ing  in  finding  one.  At  last,  Rosamond  proposed,  in  despair, 
that  they  should  seek  the  advice  of  some  fourth  person  who 
could  be  depended  on;  and  asked  her  husband's  permission 
to  write  a  confidential  statement  of  their  difficulties  to  the 
vicar  of  Long  Beckley.  Doctor  Chennery  was  their  oldest 
friend  and  adviser ;  he  had  known  them  both  as  children  ;  he 
was  well  acquainted  with  the  history  of  their  families ;  he  felt 
a  fatherly  interest  in  their  fortunes;  and  he  possessed  that 
invaluable  quality  of  plain,  clear-headed  common-sense  which 
marked  him  out  as  the  very  man  who  would  be  most  likely, 
as  well  as  most  willing,  to  help  them. 

Mr. Frankland  readily  agreed  to  his  wife's  suggestion;  and 
Rosamond  wrote  immediately  to  Doctor  Chennery,  informing 
him  of  every  thing  that  had  happened  since  Mrs.  Jazeph's 
first  introduction  to  her,  and  asking  him  for  his  opinion  on 
the  course  of  proceeding  which  it  would  be  best  for  her  hus 
band  and  herself  to  adopt  in  the  difficulty  in  which  they 
were  now  placed.  By  return  of  post  an  answer  was  received, 


226  THE    DEAP    SECRET. 

which  amply  justified  Rosamond's  reliance  on  her  old  friend. 
Doctor  Chennery  not  only  sympathized  heartily  with  the 
eager  cariosity  which  Mrs.  Jazeph's  language  and  conduct 
had  excited  in  the  mind  of  his  correspondent,  but  he  had  also 
a  plan  of  his  own  to  propose  for  ascertaining  the  position  of 
the  Myrtle  Room. 

The  vicar  prefaced  his  suggestion  by  expressing  a  strong 
opinion  against  instituting  any  further  search  after  Mrs.  Ja- 
zeph.  Judging  by  the  circumstances,  as  they  were  related 
to  him,  he  considered  that  it  would  be  the  merest  waste  of 
time  to  attempt  to  find  her  out.  Accordingly  he  passed 
from  that  part  of  the  subject  at  once,  and  devoted  himself  to 
the  consideration  of  the  more  important  question — How  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Frankland  were  to  proceed  in  the  endeavor  to  dis 
cover  for  themselves  the  mystery  of  the  Myrtle  Room? 

On  this  point  Doctor  Chennery  entertained  a  conviction 
of  the  strongest  kind,  and  he  warned  Rosamond  beforehand 
that  she  must  expect  to  be  very  much  surprised  when  he 
came  to  the  statement  of  it.  Taking  it  for  granted  that  she 
and  her  husband  could  not  hope  to  find  out  where  the  room 
was,  unless  they  were  assisted  by  some  one  better  acquainted 
than  themselves  with  the  old  local  arrangements  of  the  in 
terior  of  Porthgenna  Tower,  the  vicar  declared  it  to  be  his 
opinion  that  there  was  only  one  individual  living  who  could 
afford  them  the  information  they  wanted,  and  that  this  per 
son  was  no  other  than  Rosamond's  own  cross-grained  rela 
tive,  Andrew  Treverton. 

This  startling  opinion  Doctor  Chennery  supported  by  two 
reasons.  In  the  first  place,  Andrew  was  the  only  surviving 
member  of  the  elder  generation  who  had  lived  at  Porthgenna 
Tower  in  the  by-gone  days  when  all  traditions  connected 
with  the  north  rooms  were  still  fresh  in  the  memories  of  the 
inhabitants  of  the  house.  The  people  who  lived  in  it  now 
were  strangers,  who  had  been  placed  in  their  situations  by 
Mr.Frankland's  father;  and  the  servants  employed  in  former 
days  by  Captain  Treverton  were  dead  or  dispersed.  The  one 
available  person,  therefore,  whose  recollections  were  likely 
to  be  of  any  service  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frankland,  was  indis 
putably  the  brother  of  the  old  owner  of  Porthgenna  Tower. 

In  the  second  place,  there  was  the  chance,  even  if  Andrew 
Treverton's  memory  was  not  to  be  trusted,  that  he  might 


T11E   DEAD   SECRET.  227 

possess  written  or  printed  information  relating  to  the  locality 
of  the  Myrtle  Room.  By  his  father's  will — which  had  been 
made  when  Andrew  was  a  young  man  just  going  to  college, 
and  which  had  not  been  altered  at  the  period  of  his  depart 
ure  from  England,  or  at  any  after-time — he  had  inherited  the 
choice  old  collection  of  books  in  the  library  at  Porthgenna. 
Supposing  that  he  still  preserved  these  heir- looms,  it  was 
highly  probable  that  there  might  exist  among  them  some 
plan,  or  some  description  of  the  house  as  it  was  in  the  olden 
time,  which  would  supply  all  the  information  that  was  want 
ed.  Here,  then,  was  another  valid  reason  for  believing  that 
if  a  clew  to  the  position  of  the  Myrtle  Room  existed  any 
where,  Andrew  Treverton  was  the  man  to  lay  his  hand  on  it. 

Assuming  it,  therefore,  to  be  proved  that  the  surly  old  mis 
anthrope  was  the  only  person  who  could  be  profitably  applied 
to  for  the  requisite  information,  the  next  question  was,  How 
to  communicate  with  him  ?  The  vicar  understood  perfectly 
that  after  Andrew's  inexcusably  heartless  conduct  toward 
her  father  and  mother,  it  was  quite  impossible  for  Rosamond 
to  address  any  direct  application  to  him.  The  obstacle,  how 
ever,  might  be  surmounted  by  making  the  necessary  com 
munication  proceed  from  Doctor  Chennery.  Heartily  as  the 
vicar  disliked  Andrew  Treverton  personally,  and  strongly  as 
he  disapproved  of  the  old  misanthrope's  principles,  he  was 
willing  to  set  aside  his  own  antipathies  and  objections  to 
serve  the  interests  of  his  young  friends ;  and  he  expressed 
his  perfect  readiness  to  write  and  recall  himself  to  Andrew's 
recollection,  and  to  ask,  as  if  it  was  a  matter  of  antiquarian 
curiosity,  for  information  on  the  subject  of  the  north  side  of 
Porthgenna  Tower — including,  of  course,  a  special  request  to 
be  made  acquainted  with  the  names  by  which  the  rooms  had 
been  individually  known  in  former  days. 

In  making  this  offer,  the  vicar  frankly  acknowledged  that 
he  thought  the  chances  were  very  much  against  his  receiving 
any  answer  at  all  to  his  application,  no  matter  how  carefully 
he  might  word  it,  with  a  view  to  humoring  Andrew's  churl 
ish  peculiarities.  However,  considering  that,  in  the  present 
posture  of  affairs,  a  forlorn  hope  was  better  than  no  hope  at 
all,  he  thought  it  was  at  least  worth  while  to  make  the  at 
tempt  on  the  plan  which  he  had  just  suggested.  If  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Frankland  could  devise  any  better  means  of  opening 


228  THE    DEAD   SECKET. 

communications  with  Andrew  Treverton,  or  if  they  had  dis 
covered  any  new  method  of  their  own  for  obtaining  the  in 
formation  of  which  they  stood  in  need,  Doctor  Chennery  was 
perfectly  ready  to  set  aside  his  own  opinions  and  to  defer  to 
theirs. 

A  very  brief  consideration  of  the  vicar's  friendly  letter  con 
vinced  Rosamond  and  her  husband  that  they  had  no  choice 
but  gratefully  to  accept  the  oifer  which  it  contained.  The 
chances  were  certainly  against  the  success  of  the  proposed 
application ;  but  were  they  more  unfavorable  than  the  chances 
against  the  success  of  any  unaided  investigations  at  Porth- 
genna  ?  There  was,  at  least,  a  faint  hope  of  Doctor  Chen- 
nery's  request  for  information  producing  some  results;  but 
there  seemed  no  hope  at  all  of  penetrating  a  mystery  con 
nected  with  one  room  only,  by  dint  of  wandering,  in  perfect 
ignorance  of  what  to  search  for,  through  two  ranges  of  rooms 
which  reached  the  number  of  sixteen.  Influenced  by  these 
considerations,  Rosamond  wrote  back  to  the  vicar  to  thank 
him  for  his  kindness,  and  to  beg  that  he  would  communicate 
with  Andrew  Treverton,  as  he  had  proposed,  without  a  mo 
ment's  delay. 

Doctor  Chennery  immediately  occupied  himself  in  the  com 
position  of  the  important  letter,  taking  care  to  make  the  ap 
plication  on  purely  antiquarian  grounds,  and  accounting  for 
his  assumed  curiosity  on  the  subject  of  the  interior  of  Porth- 
genna  Tower  by  referring  to  his  former  knowledge  of  the 
Treverton  family,  and  to  his  natural  interest  in  the  old  house 
with  which  their  name  and  fortunes  had  been  so  closely  con 
nected.  After  appealing  to  Andrew's  early  recollections  for 
the  information  that  he  wanted,  he  ventured  a  step  farther, 
and  alluded  to  the  library  of  old  books,  mentioning  his  own 
idea  that  there  might  be  found  among  them  some  plan  or  ver 
bal  description  of  the  house,  which  might  prove  to  be  of  the 
greatest  service,  in  the  event  of  Mr.  Treverton's  memory  not 
having  preserved  all  particulars  in  connection  with  the  names 
and  positions  of  the  north  rooms.  In  conclusion,  he  took  the 
liberty  of  mentioning  that  the  loan  of  any  document  of  the 
kind  to  which  he  had  alluded,  or  the  permission  to  have  ex 
tracts  made  from  it,  would  be  thankfully  acknowledged  as  a 
great  favor  conferred ;  and  he  added,  in  a  postscript,  that,  in 
order  to  save  Mr.  Treverton  all  trouble,  a  messenger  would 


THE    DEAD    SECJIET.  229 

call  for  any  answer  he  might  be  disposed  to  give  the  day 
after  the  delivery  of  the  letter.  Having  completed  the  ap 
plication  in  these  terms,  the  vicar  inclosed  it  under  cover  to 
his  man  of  business  in  London,  with  directions  that  it  was  to 
be  delivered  by  a  trustworthy  person,  and  that  the  messenger 
was  to  call  again  the  next  morning  to  know  if  there  was  any 
answer. 

Three  days  after  this  letter  had  been  dispatched  to  its  des 
tination — at  which  time  no  tidings  of  any  sort  had  been  re 
ceived  from  Doctor  Chennery — Rosamond  at  last  obtained 
her  medical  attendant's  permission  to  travel.  Taking  leave 
of  Mr.  Orridge,  with  many  promises  to  let  him  know  what 
progress  they  made  toward  discovering  the  Myrtle  Room, 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frankland  turned  their  backs  on  West  Winston, 
and  for  the  third  time  started  on  the  journey  to  Porthgenna 
Tower. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE    BEGINNING    OF   THE    END. 

IT  was  baking -day  in  the  establishment  of  Mr.  Andrew 
Treverton  when  the  messenger  intrusted  with  Doctor  Chen- 
nery's  letter  found  his  way  to  the  garden  door  of  the  cottage 
at  Bayswater.  After  he  had  rung  three  times,  he  heard  a 
gruff  voice,  on  the  other  side  of  the  wall,  roaring  at  him  to 
let  the  bell  alone,  and  asking  who  he  was,  and  what  the  devil 
he  wanted. 

"A  letter  for  Mr.  Treverton,"  said  the  messenger,  nervous 
ly  backing  away  from  the  door  while  he  spoke. 

"  Chuck  it  over  the  wall,  then,  and  be  off  with  you  !"  an 
swered  the  gruff  voice. 

The  messenger  obeyed  both  injunctions.  He  was  a  meek, 
modest,  elderly  man;  and  when  Nature  mixed  up  the  ingre 
dients  of  his  disposition,  the  capability  of  resenting  injuries 
was  not  among  them. 

The  man  with  the  gruff  voice — or,  to  put  it  in  plainer 
terms,  the  man  Shrowl — picked  up  the  letter,  weighed  it  in 
his  hand,  looked  at  the  address  on  it  with  an  expression  of 
contemptuous  curiosity  in  his  bull-terrier  eyes,  put  it  in  his 
waistcoat  pocket,  and  walked  around  lazily  to  the  kitchen  en 
trance  of  the  cottage. 


230  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

Iii  the  apartment  which  would  probably  have  been  called 
the  pantry,  if  the  house  had  belonged  to  civilized  tenants,  a 
hand-mill  had  been  set  up ;  and,  at  the  moment  when  Shrowl 
made  his  way  to  this  room,  Mr.  Treverton  was  engaged  in 
asserting  his  independence  of  all  the  millers  in  England  by 
grinding  his  own  corn.  He  paused  irritably  in  turning  the 
handle  of  the  mill  when  his  servant  appeared  at  the  door. 

"What  do  you  come  here  for?"  he  asked.  "When  the 
flour's  ready,  I'll  call  for  you.  Don't  let's  look  at  each  other 
oftener  than  we  can  help  !  I  never  set  eyes  on  you,  Shrowl, 
but  I  ask  myself  whether,  in  the  whole  range  of  creation, 
there  is  any  animal  as  ugly  as  man  ?  I  saw  a  cat  this  morn 
ing  on  the  garden  wall,  and  there  wasn't  a  single  point  in 
which  you  would  bear  comparison  with  him.  The  cat's  eyes 
were  clear — yours  are  muddy.  The  cat's  nose  was  straight 
— yours  is  crooked.  The  cat's  whiskers  were  clean — yours 
are  dirty.  The  cat's  coat  fitted  him — yours  hangs  about  you 
like  a  sack.  I  tell  you  again,  Shrowl,  the  species  to  which 
you  (and  I)  belong  is  the  ugliest  on  the  whole  face  of  crea 
tion.  Don't  let  us  revolt  each  other  by  keeping  in  company 
any  longer.  Go  away,  you  last,  worst,  infirmest  freak  of  Nat 
ure — go  away !" 

Shrowl  listened  to  this  complimentary  address  with  an  as 
pect  of  surly  serenity.  When  it  had  come  to  an  end,  he  took 
the  letter  from  his  waistcoat  pocket,  without  condescend 
ing  to  make  any  reply.  He  was,  by  this  time,  too  thoroughly 
conscious  of  his  own  power  over  his  master  to  attach  the 
smallest  importance  to  any  thing  Mr.  Treverton  might  say 
to  him. 

"  Now  you've  done  your  talking,  suppose  you  take  a  look 
at  that,"  said  Shrowl,  dropping  the  letter  carelessly  on  a  deal 
table  by  his  master's  side.  "  It  isn't  often  that  people  trouble 
themselves  to  send^letters  to  you— is  it  ?  I  wonder  whether 
your  niece  has  took  a  fancy  to  write  to  you  ?  It  was  put  in 
the  papers  the  other  day  that  she'd  got  a  son  and  heir. 
Open  the  letter,  and  see  if  it's  an  invitation  to  the  christen 
ing.  The  company  would  be  sure  to  want  your  smiling  face 
at  the  table  to  make  'em  jolly.  Just  let  me  take  a  grind  at 
the  mill,  while  you  go  out  and  get  a  silver  mug.  The  son 
and  heir  expects  a  mug  you  know,  and  his  nurse  expects 
half  a  guinea,  and  his  mamma  expects  all  your  fortune. 


THE    DEAD    SECKET.  231 

What  a  pleasure  to  make  the  three  innocent  creeturs  happy ! 
It's  shocking  to  see  you  pulling  wry  faces,  like  that,  over  the 
letter.  Lord !  lord  !  where  can  all  your  natural  affection 
have  gone  to  ? — " 

"  If  I  only  knew  where  to  lay  my  hand  on  a  gag,  I'd  cram 
it  into  your  infernal  mouth!"  cried  Mr.  Treverton.  "How 
dare  you  talk  to  me  about  my  niece?  You  wretch!  you 
know  I  hate  her  for  her  mother's  sake.  What  do  you  mean 
by  harping  perpetually  on  my  fortune?  Sooner  than  leave 
it  to  the  play-actress's  child,  I'd  even  leave  it  to  you ;  and 
sooner  than  leave  it  to  you,  I  would  take  every  farthing  of  it 
out  in  a  boat,  and  bury  it  forever  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea  !" 
Venting  his  dissatisfaction  in  these  strong  terms,  Mr.  Trev 
erton  snatched  up  Doctor  Chennery's  letter,  and  tore  it  open 
in  a  humor  which  by  no  means  promised  favorably  for  the 
success  of  the  vicar's  application. 

lie  read  the  letter  with  an  ominous  scowl  on  his  face, 
which  grew  darker  and  darker  as  he  got  nearer  and  nearer 
to  the  end.  When  he  came  to  the  signature  his  humor 
changed,  and  he  laughed  sardonically.  "  Faithfully  yours, 
Robert  Chennery,"  he  repeated  to  himself.  "  Yes  !  faithful 
ly  mine,  if  I  humor  your  whim.  And  what  if  I  don't,  par 
son  ?"  He  paused,  and  looked  at  the  letter  again,  the  scowl 
re-appearing  on  his  face  as  he  did  so.  "  There's  a  lie  of  some 
kind  lurking  about  under  these  lines  of  fair  writing,"  he  mut 
tered  suspiciously.  "Jam  not  one  of  his  congregation:  the 
law  gives  him  no  privilege  of  imposing  on  me.  W^hat  docs 
he  mean  by  making  the  attempt  ?"  He  stopped  again,  re 
flected  a  little,  looked  up  suddenly  at  Shrowl,  and  said  to 
him, 

"  Have  you  lit  the  oven  fire  yet  ?" 

"  No,  I  hav'n't,"  answered  Shrowl. 

Mr.  Treverton  examined  the  letter  for  the  third  time — hes 
itated — then  slowly  tore  it  in  half,  and  tossed  the  two  pieces 
over  contemptuously  to  his  servant. 

"  Light  the  fire  at  once,"  he  said.  "  And,  if  you  want  pa 
per,  there  it  is  for  you.  Stop !"  he  added,  after  Shrowl  had 
picked  up  the  torn  letter.  "  If  any  body  comes  here  to-mor 
row  morning  to  ask  for  an  answer,  tell  them  I  gave  you  the 
letter  to  light  the  fire  with,  and  say  that's  the  answer." 
With  those  words  Mr.  Treverton  returned  to  the  mill,  and 

L 


232  TUB    DEAD    SECRET. 

began  to  grind  at  it  again,  with  a  grin  of  malicious  satisfac 
tion  on  his  haggard  face. 

Shrowl  withdrew  into  the  kitchen,  closed  the  door,  and, 
placing  the  torn  pieces  of  the  letter  together  on  the  dresser, 
applied  himself,  with  the  coolest  deliberation,  to  the  business 
of  reading  it.  When  he  had  gone  slowly  and  carefully 
through  it,  from  the  address  at  the  beginning  to  the  name  at 
the  end,  he  scratched  reflectively  for  a  little  while  at  his  rag 
ged  beard,  then  folded  the  letter  up  carefully  and  put  it  in 
his  pocket. 

"  I'll  have  another  look  at  it  later  in  the  day,"  he  thought 
to  himself,  tearing  off  a  piece  of  an  old  newspaper  to  light 
the  fire  with.  "  It  strikes  me,  just  at  present,  that  there 
may  be  better  things  done  with  this  letter  than  burning 
it." 

Resolutely  abstaining  from  taking  the  letter  out  of  his 
pocket  again  until  all  the  duties  of  the  household  for  that 
day  had  been  duly  performed,  Shrowl  lit  the  fire,  occupied 
the  morning  in  making  and  baking  the  bread,  and  patiently 
took  his  turn  afterward  at  digging  in  the  kitchen  garden. 
It  was  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  before  he  felt  himself  at 
liberty  to  think  of  his  private  affairs,  and  to  venture  on  re 
tiring  into  solitude  with  the  object  of  secretly  looking  over 
the  letter  once  more. 

A  second  perusal  of  Doctor  Chennery's  unlucky  applica 
tion  to  Mr.  Treverton  helped  to  confirm  Shrowl  in  his  resolu 
tion  not  to  destroy  the  letter.  With  great  pains  and  perse 
verance,  and  much  incidental  scratching  at  his  beard,  he  con 
trived  to  make  himself  master  of  three  distinct  points  in  it, 
which  stood  out,  in  his  estimation,  as  possessing  prominent 
and  serious  importance. 

The  first  point  which  he  contrived  to  establish  clearly  in 
his  mind  was  that  the  person  who  signed  the  name  of  Rob- 
ert  Chennery  was  desirous  of  examining  a  plan,  or  printed 
account,  of  the  north  side  of  the  interior  of  a  certain  old 
house  in  Cornwall,  called  Porthgenna  Tower.  The  second 
point  appeared  to  resolve  itself  into  this,  that  Robert  Chen 
nery  believed  some  such  plan  or  printed  account  might  be 
found  among  the  collection  of  books  belonging  to  Mr.  Trev 
erton.  The  third  point  was  that  this  same  Robert  Chennery 
would  receive  the  loan  of  the  plan  or  printed  account  as  one 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  233 

of  the  greatest  favors  that  could  be  conferred  on  him.  Med 
itating  on  the  latter  fact,  with  an  eye  exclusively  fixed  on 
the  contemplation  of  his  own  interests,  Shrowl  arrived  at  the 
conclusion  that  it  might  be  well  worth  his  while,  in  a  pe 
cuniary  point  of  view,  to  try  if  he  could  not  privately  place 
himself  in  a  position  to  oblige  Robert  Chennery  by  search 
ing  in  secret  among  his  master's  books.  "  It  might  be  worth 
a  five-pound  note  to  me,  if  I  managed  it  well,"  thought 
Shrowl,  putting  the  letter  back  in  his  pocket  again,  and  as 
cending  the  stairs  thoughtfully  to  the  lumber-rooms  at  the 
top  of  the  house. 

These  rooms  were  two  in  number,  were  entirely  unfur 
nished,  and  were  littered  all  over  with  the  rare  collection  of 
books  which  had  once  adorned  the  library  at  Porthgenna 
Tower.  Covered  with  dust,  and  scattered  in  all  directions 
and  positions  over  the  floor,  lay  hundreds  and  hundreds  of 
volumes,  cast  out  of  their  packing-cases  as  coals  are  cast  out 
of  their  sacks  into  a  cellar.  Ancient  books,  which  students 
would  have  treasured  as  priceless,  lay  in  chaotic  equality  of 
neglect  side  by  side  with  modern  publications  whose  chief 
merit  was  the  beauty  of  the  binding  by  which  they  were  in 
closed.  Into  this  wilderness  of  scattered  volumes  Shrowl 
now  wandered,  fortified  by  the  supreme  self-possession  of  ig 
norance,  to  search  resolutely  for  one  particular  book,  with  no 
other  light  to  direct  him  than  the  faint  glimmer  of  the  two 
guiding  words — Porthgenna  Tower.  Having  got  them  firmly 
fixed  in  his  mind,  his  next  object  was  to  search  until  he 
found  them  printed  on  the  first  page  of  any  one  of  the  hun 
dreds  of  volumes  that  lay  around  him.  This  was,  for  the 
time  being,  emphatically  his  business  in  life,  and  there  he 
now  stood,  in  the  largest  of  the  two  attics,  doggedly  pre 
pared  to  do  it. 

lie  cleared  away  space  enough  wTith  his  feet  to  enable  him 
to  sit  down  comfortably  on  the  floor,  and  then  began  to  look 
over  all  the  books  that  lay  within  arm's-length  of  him.  Odd 
volumes  of  rare  editions  of  the  classics,  odd  volumes  of  the 
English  historians,  odd  volumes  of  plays  by  the  Elizabethan 
dramatists,  books  of  travel,  books  of  sermons,  books  of  jests, 
books  of  natural  history,  books  of  sport,  turned  up  in  quaint 
and  rapid  succession ;  but  no  book  containing  on  the  title- 
page  the  words  "Porthgenna  Tower''  rewarded  the  search- 


234  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

ing  industry  of  Shrowl  for  the  first  ten  minutes  after  he  had 
sat  himself  down  on  the  floor. 

Before  removing  to  another  position,  and  contending  with 
a  fresh  accumulation  of  literary  lumber,  he  paused  and  con 
sidered  a  little  with  himself,  whether  there  might  not  be 
some  easier  and  more  orderly  method  than  any  he  had  yet 
devised  of  working  his  way  through  the  scattered  mass  of 
volumes  which  yet  remained  to  be  examined.  The  result  of 
his  reflections  was  that  it  would  be  less  confusing  to  him  if 
lie  searched  through  the  books  in  all  parts  of  the  room  indif 
ferently,  regulating  his  selection  of  them  solely  by  their  va 
rious  sizes;  disposing  of  all  the  largest  to  begin  with;  then, 
after  stowing  them  away  together,  proceeding  to  the  next 
largest,  and  so  going  on  until  he  came  down  at  last  to  the 
pocket  volumes.  Accordingly,  he  cleared  away  another  mor 
sel  of  vacant  space  near  the  wall,  and  then,  trampling  over 
the  books  as  coolly  as  if  they  were  so  many  clods  of  earth 
on  a  ploughed  field,  picked  out  the  largest  of  all  the  volumes 
that  lay  on  the  floor. 

It  was  an  atlas ;  Shrowl  turned  over  the  maps,  reflected, 
shook  his  head,  and  removed  the  volume  to  the  vacant  space 
which  he  had  cleared  close  to  the  wall. 

The  next  largest  book  was  a  magnificently  bound  col 
lection  of  engraved  portraits  of  distinguished  characters. 
Shrowl  saluted  the  distinguished  characters  with  a  grunt  of 
Gothic  disapprobation,  and  carried  them  off  to  keep  the  atlas 
company  against  the  wall. 

The  third  largest  book  lay  under  several  others.  It  pro 
jected  a  little  at  one  end,  and  it  was  bound  in  scarlet  mo 
rocco.  In  another  position,  or  bound  in  a  quieter  color,  it 
would  probably  have  escaped  notice.  Shrowl  drew  it  out 
with  some  difficulty,  opened  it  with  a  portentous  frown  of 
distrust,  looked  at  the  title-page — and  suddenly  slapped  his 
thigh  with  a  great  oath  of  exultation.  There  were  the  very 
two  words  of  which  he  was  in  search,  staring  him  in  the  face, 
as  it  were,  with  all  the  emphasis  of  the  largest  capital  letters. 

lie  took  a  step  toward  the  door  to  make  sure  that  his  mas 
ter  was  not  moving  in  the  hous"e ;  then  checked  himself  and 
turned  back.  "  What  do  I  care,"  thought  Shrowl,  "  whether 
he  sees  me  or  not?  If  it  comes  to  a  tustle  betwixt  us  which 
is  to  have  his  own  way,  I  know  who's  master  and  who's 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  235 

servant  in  the  house  by  this  time."  Composing  himself  with 
that  reflection,  he  turned  to  the  first  leaf  of  the  book,  with 
the  intention  of  looking  it  over  carefully,  page  by  page,  from 
beginning  to  end. 

The  first  leaf  was  a  blank.  The  second  leaf  had  an  in 
scription  written  at  the  top  of  it,  in  faded  ink,  which  con 
tained  these  words  and  initials:  "Rare.  Only  six  copies 
printed.  J.  A.  T."  Below,  on  the  middle  of  the  leaf,  wras 
the  printed  dedication:  "To  John  Arthur  Treverton,  Es 
quire,  Lord  of  the  Manor  of  Porthgenna,  One  of  his  Majes 
ty's  Justices  of  the  Peace,  F.R.S.,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.,  this  work,  in 
which  an  attempt  is  made  to  describe  the  ancient  and  hon 
ored  Mansion  of  his  Ancestors —  There  were  many  more 
lines,  filled  to  bursting  with  all  the  largest  and  most  obse 
quious  words  to  be  found  in  the  dictionary;  but  Shrowl 
wisely  abstained  from  giving  himself  the  trouble  of  reading 
them,  and  turned  over  at  once  to  the  title-page. 

There  were  the  all-important  words:  "The  History  and 
Antiquities  of  PORTIIGEXXA  TOWER.  From  the  period  of 
its  first  erection  to  the  present  time ;  comprising  interesting 
genealogical  particulars  relating  to  the  Treverton  family  ; 
with  an  inquiry  into  the  Origin  of  Gothic  Architecture,  and 
a  few  thoughts  on  the  Theory  of  Fortification  after  the  pe 
riod  of  the  Norman  Conquest.  By  the  Reverend  Job  Dark, 
D.D.,  Rector  of  Porthgenna.  The  whole  adorned  with  Por 
traits,  Views,  and  Plans,  executed  in  the  highest  style  of 
art.  Not  published.  Printed  by  Spaldock  and  Grimes, 
Truro,  1734." 

That  was  the  title-page.  The  next  leaf  contained  an  en 
graved  view  of  Porthgenna  Tower  from  the  West.  Then 
came  several  pages  devoted  to  the  Origin  of  Gothic  Archi 
tecture.  Then  more  pages,  explaining  the  Norman  Theory 
of  Fortification.  These  were  succeeded  by  another  engrav 
ing — Porthgenna  Tower  from  the  East.  After  that  followed 
more  reading,  under  the  title  of  The  Treverton  Family  ;  and 
then  came  the  third  engraving  —  Porthgenna  Tower  from 
the  North.  Shrowl  paused  there,  and  looked  with  interest 
at  the  leaf  opposite  the  print.  It  only  announced  more  read 
ing  still,  about  the  Erection  of  the  Mansion ;  and  this  was 
succeeded  by  engravings  from  family  portraits  in  the  gallery 
at  Porthgenna.  Placing  his  left  thumb  between  the  leaves 


236  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

to  mark  the  place,  Shrowl  impatiently  turned  to  the  end  of 
the  book,  to  see  what  he  could  find  there.  The  last  leaf  con 
tained  a  plan  of  the  stables ;  the  leaf  before  that  presented  a 
plan  of  the  north  garden ;  and  on  the  next  leaf,  turning  back 
ward,  was  the  very  thing  described  in  Robert  Chennery's 
letter — a  plan  of  the  interior  arrangement  of  the  north  side 
of  the  house ! 

Shrowl's  first  impulse  on  making  this  discovery  was  to 
carry  the  book  away  to  the  safest  hiding-place  he  could  find 
for  it,  preparatory  to  secretly  offering  it  for  sale  when  the 
messenger  called  the  next  morning  for  an  answer  to  the  let 
ter.  A  little  reflection,  however,  convinced  him  that  a  pro 
ceeding  of  this  sort  bore  a  dangerously  close  resemblance  to 
the  act  of  thieving,  and  might  get  him  into  trouble  if  the 
person  with  whom  he  desired  to  deal  asked  him  any  prelim 
inary  questions  touching  his  right  to  the  volume  which  he 
wanted  to  dispose  of.  The  only  alternative  that  remained 
was  to  make  the  best  copy  he  could  of  the  Plan,  and  to  traf 
fic  with"  that,  as  a  document  which  the  most  scrupulous  per 
son  in  the  world  need  not  hesitate  to  purchase. 

Resolving,  after  some  consideration,  to  undergo  the  trouble 
of  making  the  copy  rather  than  run  the  risk  of  purloining  the 
book,  Shrowl  descended  to  the  kitchen,  took  from  one  of  the 
drawers  of  the  dresser  an  old  stump  of  a  pen,  a  bottle  of  ink, 
and  a  crumpled  half-sheet  of  dirty  letter-paper,  and  returned 
to  the  garret  to  copy  the  Plan  as  he  best  might.  It  was  of 
the  simplest  kind,  and  it  occupied  but  a  small  portion  of  the 
page ;  yet  it  presented  to  his  eyes  a  hopelessly  involved  and 
intricate  appearance  wThen  he  now  examined  it  for  the  sec 
ond  time. 

The  rooms  were  represented  by  rows  of  small  squares,  with 
>namcs  neatly  printed  inside  them ;  and  the  positions  of  doors, 
staircases,  and  passages  wrere  indicated  by  parallel  lines  of 
various  lengths  and  breadths.  After  much  cogitation,  frown 
ing,  and  pulling  at  his  beard,  it  occurred  to  Shrowl  that  the 
easiest  method  of  copying  the  Plan  would  be  to  cover  it  with 
the  letter-paper — which,  though  hardly  half  the  size  of  the 
page,  was  large  enough  to  spread  over  the  engraving  on  it — 
and  then  to  trace  the  lines  which  he  saw  through  the  paper 
as  carefully  as  he  could  with  his  pen  and  ink.  He  puffed 
and  snorted  and  grumbled,  and  got  red  in  the  face  over  his 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  237 

task ;  but  he  accomplished  it  at  last — bating  certain  draw 
backs  in  the  shape  of  blots  and  smears — in  a  sufficiently  cred 
itable  manner ;  then  stopped  to  let  the  ink  dry  and  to  draw 
his  breath  freely,  before  he  attempted  to  do  any  thing  more. 

The  next  obstacle  to  be  overcome  consisted  in  the  diffi 
culty  of  copying  the  names  of  the  rooms,  which  were  printed 
inside  the  squares.  Fortunately  for  Shrowl,  who  was  one  of 
the  clumsiest  of  mankind  in  the  use  of  the  pen,  none  of  the 
names  were  very  long.  As  it  was,  he  found  the  greatest  dif 
ficulty  in  writing  them  in  sufficiently  small  characters  to  fit 
into  the  squares.  One  name  in  particular — that  of  the  Myr 
tle  Room — presented  combinations  of  letters,  in  the  word 
"Myrtle,"  which  tried  his  patience  and  his  fingers  sorely 
when  he  attempted  to  reproduce  them.  Indeed,  the  result, 
in  this  case,  when  he  had  done  his  best,  was  so  illegible,  even 
to  his  eyes,  that  he  wrote  the  word  over  again  in  larger  char 
acters  at  the  top  of  the  page,  and  connected  it  by  a  wavering 
line  with  the  square  which  represented  the  Myrtle  Room. 
The  same  accident  happened  to  him  in  two  other  instances, 
and  was  remedied  in  the  same  way.  With  the  rest  of  the 
names,  however,  he  succeeded  better;  and,  when  he  had 
finally  completed  the  business  of  transcription  by  writing 
the  title,  "  Plan  of  the  North  Side,"  his  copy  presented,  on 
the  whole,  a  more  respectable  appearance  than  might  have 
been  anticipated.  After  satisfying  himself  of  its  accuracy  by 
a  careful  comparison  of  it  with  the  original,  he  folded  it  up 
along  with  Doctor  Chennery's  letter,  and  deposited  it  in  his 
pocket  with  a  hoarse  gasp  of  relief  and  a  grim  smile  of  satis 
faction. 

The  next  morning  the  garden  door  of  the  cottage  presented 
itself  to  the  public  eye  in  the  totally  new  aspect  of  standing 
hospitably  ajar;  and  one  of  the  bare  posts  had  the  advantage 
of  being  embellished  by  the  figure  of  Shrowl,  who  leaned 
against  it  easily,  with  his  legs  crossed,  his  hands  in  his  pock 
ets,  and  his  pipe  in  his  mouth,  looking  out  for  the  return  of 
the  messenger  who  had  delivered  Doctor  Chennery's  letter 
the  day  before. 


238  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 


CHAPTER  III. 

APPROACHIXG   THE    PRECIPICE. 

TRAVELING  from  London  to  Porthgenna,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Frankland  had  stopped,  on  the  ninth  of  May,  at  the  West 
Winston  station.  On  the  eleventh  of  June  they  left  it  again 
to  continue  their  journey  to  Cornwall.  On  the  thirteenth, 
after  resting  two  nights  upon  the  road,  they  arrived  toward 
the  evening  at  Porthgenna  Tower. 

There  had  been  storm  and  rain  all  the  morning;  it  had 
lulled  toward  the  afternoon,  and  at  the  hour  when  they 
reached  the  house  the  wind  had  dropped,  a  thick  white  fog 
hid  the  sea  from  view,  and  sudden  showrers  fell  drearily  from 
time  to  time  over  the  sodden  land.  Not  even  a  solitary  idler 
from  the  village  was  hanging  about  the  west  terrace  as  the 
carriage  containing  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frankland,  the  baby,  and 
the  two  servants  drove  up  to  the  house. 

No  one  was  wraiting  with  the  door  open  to  receive  the  trav 
elers;  for  all  hope  of  their  arriving  on  that  day  had  been 
given  up,  and  the  ceaseless  thundering  of  the  surf,  as  the 
stormy  sea  surged  in  on  the  beach  beneath,  drowned  the  roll 
of  the  carriage- wheels  over  the  terrace  road.  The  driver  was 
obliged  to  leave  his  seat  and  ring  at  the  bell  for  admittance. 
A  minute  or  more  elapsed  before  the  door  was  opened.  With 
the  rain  falling  sullen  and  steady  on  the  roof  of  the  carriage, 
with  the  raw  dampness  of  the  atmosphere  penetrating  through 
all  coverings  and  defenses,  with  the  booming  of  the  surf 
sounding  threateningly  near  in  the  dense  obscurity  of  the 
fog,  the  young  couple  waited  for  admission  to  their  own 
home,  as  strangers  might  have  waited  who  had  called  at  an 
ill-chosen  time. 

When  the  door  was  opened  at  last,  the  master  and  mis 
tress,  whom  the  servants  would  have  welcomed  with  the 
proper  congratulations  on  any  other  occasion,  Avere  now  re 
ceived  with  the  proper  apologies  instead.  Mr.  Munder,  Mrs. 
Pentreath,  Betsey,  and  Mr.  Frankland's  man  all  crowded  to 
gether  in  the  hall,  and  all  begged  pardon  confusedly  for  not 


THE    DEAD    SECKET.  239 

having  been  ready  at  the  door  when  the  carriage  drove  up. 
The  appearance  of  the  baby  changed  the  conventional  ex 
cuses  of  the  housekeeper  and  the  maid  into  conventional  ex 
pressions  of  admiration ;  but  the  men  remained  grave  and 
gloomy,  and  spoke  of  the  miserable  weather  apologetically, 
as  if  the  rain  and  the  fog  had  been  of  their  own  making. 

The  reason  for  their  persistency  in  dwelling  on  this  one 
dreary  topic  came  out  while  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frankland  were 
being  conducted  up  the  west  staircase.  The  storm  of  the 
morning  had  been  fatal  to  three  of  the  Porthgenna  fishermen, 
who  had  been  lost  with  their  boat  at  sea,  and  whose  deaths 
had  thrown  the  whole  village  into  mourning.  The  servants 
had  done  nothing  but  talk  of  the  catastrophe  ever  since  the 
intelligence  of  it  had  reached  them  early  in  the  afternoon ; 
and  Mr.  Munder  now  thought  it  his  duty  to  explain  that  the 
absence  of  the  villagers,  on  the  occasion  of  the  arrival  of  his 
master  and  mistress,  was  entirely  attributable  to  the  effect 
produced  among  the  little  community  by  the  wreck  of  the 
fishing-boat.  Under  any  less  lamentable  circumstances  the 
west  terrace  would  have  been  crowded,  and  the  appearance 
of  the  carriage  would  have  been  welcomed  with  cheers. 

"  Lenny,  I  almost  wish  we  had  waited  a  little  longer  before 
we  came  here,"  whispered  Rosamond,  nervously  pressing  her 
husband's  arm.  "  It  is  very  dreary  and  disheartening  to  re 
turn  to  my  first  home  on  such  a  day  as  this.  That  story  of 
the  poor  fishermen  is  a  sad  story,  love,  to  welcome  me  back 
to  the  place  of  my  birth.  Let  us  send  the  first  thing  to-mor 
row  morning,  and  see  what  we  can  do  for  the  poor  helpless 
women  and  children.  I  shall  not  feel  easy  in  my  mind,  after 
hearing  that  story,  till  we  have  done  something  to  comfort 
them." 

"  I  trust  you  will  approve  of  the  repairs,  ma'am,"  said  the 
housekeeper,  pointing  to  the  staircase  which  led  to  the  second 
story. 

"  The  repairs  ?"  said  Rosamond,  absently.  "  Repairs  !  I 
never  hear  the  word  now,  without  thinking  of  the  north 
rooms,  and  of  the  plans  we  devised  for  getting  my  poor  dear 
father  to  live  in  them.  Mrs.  Pentreath,  I  have  a  host  of  ques 
tions  to  ask  you  and  Mr.  Munder  about  all  the  extraordinary 
things  that  happened  when  the  mysterious  lady  and  the  in 
comprehensible  foreigner  came  here.  But  tell  me  first — this 

L2 


240  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

is  the  west  front,  I  suppose  ? — how  far  are  we  from  the  north 
rooms?  I  mean,  how  long  would  it  take  us  to  get  to  them, 
if  we  wanted  to  go  now  to  that  part  of  the  house  ?" 

"  Oh,  dear  me,  ma'am,  not  five  minutes  !"  answered  Mrs. 
Pentreath. 

"  Not  five  minutes !"  repeated  Rosamond,  whispering  to 
her  husband  again.  "Do  you  hear  that,  Lenny?  In  five 
minutes  we  might  be  in  the  Myrtle  Room !" 

"  Yet,"  said  Mr.  Frankland,  smiling,  "  in  our  present  state 
of  ignorance,  we  are  just  as  far  from  it  as  if  we  were  at  West 
Winston  still." 

"I  can't  think  that,  Lenny.  It  may  be  only  my  fancy,  but 
now  we  are  on  the  spot  I  feel  as  if  we  had  driven  the  mys 
tery  into  its  last  hiding-place.  We  are  actually  in  the  house 
that  holds  the  Secret ;  and  nothing  will  persuade  me  that  we 
are  not  half-way  already  toward  finding  it  out.  But  don't 
let  us  stop  on  this  cold  landing.  Which  way  are  we  to  go 
next  ?" 

"  This  way,  ma'am,"  said  Mr.  Munder,  seizing  the  first  op 
portunity  of  placing  himself  in  a  prominent  position.  "  There 
is  a  fire  in  the  drawing-room.  Will  you  allow  me  the  honor 
of  leading  and  conducting  you,  Sir,  to  the  apartment  in  ques 
tion  ?"  he  added,  officiously  stretching  out  his  hand  to  Mr. 
Frankland. 

"  Certainly  not !"  interposed  Rosamond  sharply.  She  had 
noticed  with  her  usual  quickness  of  observation  that  Mr. 
Munder  wanted  the  delicacy  of  feeling  which  ought  to  have 
restrained  him  from  staring  curiously  at  his  blind  master  in 
her  presence,  and  she  was  unfavorably  disposed  toward  him 
in  consequence.  "  Wherever  the  apartment  in  question  may 
happen  to  be,"  she  continued  with  satirical  emphasis,  "  I  will 
lead  Mr.  Frankland  to  it,  if  you  please.  If  you  want  to  make 
yourself  useful,  you  had  better  go  on  before  us,  and  open  the 
door." 

Outwardly  crest-fallen,  but  inwardly  indignant,  Mr.  Mun 
der  led  the  way  to  the  drawing-room.  The  fire  burned  bright 
ly,  the  old-fashioned  furniture  displayed  itself  to  the  most 
picturesque  advantage,  the  paper  on  the  walls  looked  com 
fortably  mellow,  the  carpet,  faded  as  it  was,  felt  soft  and 
warm  underfoot.  Rosamond  led  her  husband  to  an  easy  chair 
by  the  fireside,  and  began  to  feel  at  home  for  the  first  time. 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  241 

"This  looks  really  comfortable,"  she  said.  "When  we 
have  shut  out  that  dreary  white  fog,  and  the  candles  are  lit, 
and  the  tea  is  on  the  table,  we  shall  have  nothing  in  the 
world  to  complain  of.  You  enjoy  this  nice  warm  atmosphere, 
don't  you,  Lenny  ?  There  is  a  piano  in  the  room,  my  dear ; 
I  can  play  to  you  in  the  evening  at  Porthgenna  just  as  I 
used  in  London.  Nurse,  sit  down  and  make  yourself  and  the 
baby  as  comfortable  as  you  can.  Before  we  take  our  bonnets 
off,  I  must  go  away  with  Mrs.  Pentreath  and  see  about  the 
bedrooms.  What  is  your  name,  you  very  rosy,  good-natured 
looking  girl  ?  Betsey,  is  it  ?  Well,  then,  Betsey,  suppose 
you  go  down  and  get  the  tea ;  and  we  shall  like  you  all  the 
better  if  you  can  contrive  to  bring  us  some  cold  meat  with 
it."  Giving  her  orders  in  those  good-humored  terms,  and  not 
noticing  that  her  husband  looked  a  little  uneasy  while  she 
was  talking  so  familiarly  to  a  servant,  Rosamond  left  the 
room  in  company  with  Mrs.  Pentreath. 

When  she  returned,  her  face  and  manner  were  altered:  she 
looked  and  spoke  seriously  and  quietly. 

"  I  hope  I  have  arranged  every  thing  for  the  best,  Lenny," 
she  said.  "  The  airiest  and  largest  room,  Mrs.  Pentreath  tells 
me,  is  the  room  in  which  my  mother  died.  But  I  thought  we 
had  better  not  make  use  of  that :  I  felt  as  if  it  chilled  and 
saddened  me  only  to  look  at  it.  Farther  on,  along  the  pas 
sage,  there  is  a  room  that  was  my  nursery.  I  almost  fancied, 
when  Mrs.  Pentreath  told  me  she  had  heard  I  used  to  sleep 
there,  that  I  remembered  the  pretty  little  arched  door-way 
leading  into  the  second  room — the  night-nursery  it  used  to 
be  called  in  former  days.  I  have  ordered  the  fire  to  be  lit 
there,  and  the  beds  to  be  made.  There  is  a  third  room  on 
the  right  hand,  which  communicates  with  the  day-nursery. 
I  think  we  might  manage  to  establish  ourselves  very  com 
fortably  in  the  three  rooms — if  you  felt  no  objection — though 
they  are  not  so  large  or  so  grandly  furnished  as  the  company 
bedrooms.  I  will  change  the  arrangement,  if  you  like — but 
the  house  looks  rather  lonesome  and  dreary,  just  at  first — and 
my  heart  warms  to  the  old  nursery — and  I  think  we  might 
at  least  try  it,  to  begin  with,  don't  you,  Lenny?" 

Mr.  Frankland  was  quite  of  his  wife's  opinion,  and  was 
ready  to  accede  to  any  domestic  arrangements  that  she  might 
think  fit  to  make.  While  he  was  assuring  her  of  this  the  tea 


242  THE   DEAD   SECRET. 

came  up,  and  the  sight  of  it  helped  to  restore  Rosamond  to 
her  usual  spirits.  When  the  meal  was  over,  she  occupied 
herself  in  seeing  the  baby  comfortably  established  for  the 
night,  in  the  room  on  the  right  hand  which  communicated 
with  the  day-nursery.  That  maternal  duty  performed,  she 
came  back  to  her  husband  in  the  drawing-room;  and  the  con 
versation  between  them  turned — as  it  almost  always  turned 
now  when  they  were  alone — on  the  two  perplexing  subjects 
of  Mrs.  Jazeph  and  the  Myrtle  Room. 

"  I  wish  it  was  not  night,"  said  Rosamond.  "  I  should  like 
to  begin  exploring  at  once.  Mind,  Lenny,  you  must  be  with 
me  in  all  my  investigations.  I  lend  you  my  eyes,  and  you 
give  me  your  advice.  You  must  never  lose  patience,  and 
never  tell  me  that  you  can  be  of  no  use.  How  I  do  wish  we 
were  starting  on  our  voyage  of  discovery  at  this  very  mo 
ment  !  But  we  may  make  inquiries,  at  any  rate,"  she  con 
tinued,  ringing  the  bell.  "  Let  us  have  the  housekeeper  and 
the  steward  up,  and  try  if  we  can't  make  them  tell  us  some 
thing  more  than  they  told  us  in  their  letter." 

The  bell  was  answered  by  Betsey.  Rosamond  desired  that 
Mr.  Munder  and  Mrs.  Pentreath  might  be  sent  up  stairs. 
Betsey  having  heard  Mrs.  Frankland  express  her  intention 
of  questioning  the  housekeeper  and  the  steward,  guessed  why 
they  were  wanted,  and  smiled  mysteriously. 

•"  Did  you  see  any  thing  of  those  strange  visitors  who  be 
haved  so  oddly?"  asked  Rosamond,  detecting  the  smile. 
"  Yes,  I  am  sure  you  did.  Tell  us  what  you  saw.  We  want 
to  hear  every  thing  that  happened — every  thing,  doAvn  to  the 
smallest  trifle." 

Appealed  to  in  these  direct  terms,  Betsey  contrived,  with 
much  circumlocution  and  confusion,  to  relate  what  her  own 
personal  experience  had  been  of  the  proceedings  of  Mrs.  Ja 
zeph  and  her  foreign  companion.  When  she  had  done,  Rosa 
mond  stopped  her  on  her  way  to  the  door  by  asking  this 
question — 

"  You  say  the  lady  was  found  lying  in  a  fainting-fit  at  the 
top  of  the  stairs.  Have  you  any  notion,  Betsey,  why  she 
fainted  ?" 

The  servant  hesitated. 

"  Come  !  come !"  said  Rosamond.  "  You  have  some  notion, 
I  can  see.  Tell  us  what  it  is." 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  243 

"  I'm  afraid  you  will  be  angry  with  me,  ma'am,"  said  Bet 
sey,  expressing  embarrassment  by  drawing  lines  slowly  with 
her  forefinger  on  a  table  at  her  side. 

"  Nonsense  !  I  shall  only  be  angry  with  you  if  you  won't 
speak.  Why  do  you  think  the  lady  fainted  ?" 

Betsey  drew  a  very  long  line  with  her  embarrassed  fore 
finger,  wiped  it  afterward  on  her  apron,  and  answered — 

"  I  think  she  fainted,  if  you  please,  ma'am,  because  she  see 
the  ghost." 

"  The  ghost !  What  !  is  there  a  ghost  in  the  house  ?  Len 
ny,  here  is  a  romance  that  we  never  expected.  What  sort 
of  ghost  is  it  ?  Let  us  have  the  whole  story." 

The  whole  story,  as  Betsey  told  it,  was  not  of  a  nature  to 
afford  her  hearers  any  extraordinary  information,  or  to  keep 
them  very  long  in  suspense.  The  ghost  was  a  lady  who  had 
been  at  a  remote  period  the  wife  of  one  of  the  owners  of 
Porthgenna  Tower,  and  who  had  been  guilty  of  deceiving 
her  husband  in  some  way  unknown.  She  had  been  con 
demned  in  consequence  to  walk  about  the  north  rooms  as 
long  as  ever  the  walls  of  them  held  together.  She  had  long, 
curling,  light-brown  hair,  and  very  white  teeth,  and  a  dimple 
in  each  cheek,  and  was  altogether  "  awful  beautiful "  to  look 
at.  Her  approach  was  heralded  to  any  mortal  creature 
who  was  unfortunate  enough  to  fall  in  her  way  by  the  blow 
ing  of  a  cold  wind,  and  nobody  wTho  had  once  felt  that 
wind  had  the  slightest  chance  of  ever  feeling  warm  again. 
That  was  all  Betsey  knew  about  the  ghost ;  and  it  was 
in  her  opinion  enough  to  freeze  a  person's  blood  only  to 
think  of  it. 

Rosamond  smiled,  then  looked  grave  again.  "  I  wish  you 
could  have  told  us  a  little  more,"  she  said.  "  But,  as  you  can 
not,  we  must  try  Mrs.  Pentreath  and  Mr.  Munder  next.  Send 
them  up  here,  if  you  please,  Betsey,  as  soon  as  you  get  down 
stairs." 

The  examination  of  the  housekeeper  and  the  steward  led 
to  no  result  whatever.  Nothing  more  than  they  had  already 
communicated  in  their  letter  to  Mrs.  Frankland  could  be  ex 
tracted  from  either  of  them.  Mr.  Munder's  dominant  idea 
was  that  the  foreigner  had  entered  the  doors  of  Porthgenna 
Tower  with  felonious  ideas  on  the  subject  of  the  family  plate. 
Mrs.  Pentreath  concurred  in  that  opinion,  and  mentioned,  in 


244  THE  DEAD  SECRET. 

connection  with  it,  her  own  private  impression  that  the  lady 
in  the  quiet  dress  was  an  unfortunate  person  who  had  escaped 
from  a  mad -house.  As  to  giving  a  word  of  advice,  or  suggest 
ing  a  plan  for  solving  the  mystery,  neither  the  housekeeper 
nor  the  steward  appeared  to  think  that  the  rendering  of  any 
assistance  of  that  sort  lay  at  all  within  their  province.  They 
took  their  own  practical  view  of  the  suspicious  conduct  of 
the  two  strangers,  and  no  mortal  power  could  persuade  them 
to  look  an  inch  beyond  it. 

"  Oh,  the  stupidity,  the  provoking,  impenetrable,  preten 
tious  stupidity  of  respectable  English  servants  !"  exclaimed 
Rosamond,  when  she  and  her  husband  were  alone  again. 
"No  help,  Lenny,  to  be  hoped  for  from  either  of  those  two 
people.  We  have  nothing  to  trust  to  now  but  the  examina 
tion  of  the  house  to-morrow ;  and  that  resource  may  fail  us, 
like  all  the  rest.  What  can  Doctor  Chennery  be  about  ? 
Why  did  wre  not  hear  from  him  before  we  left  West  Wins 
ton  ?" 

"Patience,  Rosamond,  patience.  We  shall  see  what  the 
post  brings  to-morrow." 

"  Pray  don't  talk  about  patience,  dear  !  My  stock  of  that 
virtue  was  never  a  very  large  one,  and  it  was  all  exhausted 
ten  days  ago,  at  least.  Oh,  the  weeks  and  weeks  I  have  been 
vainly  asking  myself — Why  should  Mrs.  Jazeph  warn  me 
against  going  into  the  Myrtle  Room?  Is  she  afraid  of  my 
discovering  a  crime  ?  or  afraid  of  my  tumbling  through  the 
floor  ?  What  did  she  want  to  do  in  the  room,  when  she  made 
that  attempt  to  get  into  it  ?  Why,  in  the  name  of  wonder, 
should  she  know  something  about  this  house  that  I  never 
knew,  that  my  father  never  knew,  that  nobody  else — " 

"  Rosamond  !"  cried  Mr.  Frankland,  suddenly  changing 
color,  and  starting  in  his  chair — "I  think  I  can  guess  who 
Mrs.  Jazeph  is !" 

"  Good  gracious,  Lenny  !     What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Something  in  those  last  words  of  yours  started  the  idea 
in  my  mind  the  instant  you  spoke.  Do  you  remember,  when 
we  were  staying  at  St.  Swithin's-on-Sea,  and  talking  about 
the  chances  for  and  against  our  prevailing  on  your  father  to 
live  with  us  here — do  you  remember,  Rosamond,  telling  me 
at  that  time  of  certain  unpleasant  associations  which  he 
had  with  the  house,  and  mentioning  among  them  the  myste- 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  245 

rious  disappearance  of  a  servant  on  the  morning  of  your 
mother's  death  ?" 

Rosamond  turned  pale  at  the  question.  "  How  came  we 
never  to  think  of  that  before  ?"  she  said. 

"  You  told  me,"  pursued  Mr.  Frankland, "  that  this  servant 
left  a  strange  letter  behind  her,  in  which  she  confessed  that 
your  mother  had  charged  her  with  the  duty  of  telling  a  secret 
to  your  father — a  secret  that  she  was  afraid  to  divulge,  and 
that  she  was  afraid  of  being  questioned  about.  I  am  right, 
am  I  not,  in  stating  those  two  reasons  as  the  reasons  she  gave 
for  her  disappearance  ?" 

"  Quite  right." 

"  And  your  father  never  heard  of  her  again  ?" 

"  Never !" 

"  It  is  a  bold  guess  to  make,  Rosamond,  but  the  impression 
is  strong  on  my  mind  that,  on  the  day  when  Mrs.  Jazeph 
came  into  your  room  at  West  Winston,  you  and  that  servant 
met,  and  she  knew  it !" 

"And  the  Secret,  dear — the  Secret  she  was  afraid  to  tell 
my  father?" 

"  Must  be  in  some  way  connected  with  the  Myrtle  Room." 

Rosamond  said  nothing  in  answer.  She  rose  from  her 
chair,  and  began  to  walk  agitatedly  up  and  down  the  room. 
Hearing  the  rustle  of  her  dress,  Leonard  called  her  to  him, 
and,  taking  her  hand,  laid  his  fingers  on  her  pulse,  and  then 
lifted  them  for  a  moment  to  her  cheek. 

"I  wish  I  had  waited  until  to-morrow  morning  before  I 
told  you  my  idea  about  Mrs.  Jazeph,"  he  said.  "I  have 
agitated  you  to  no  purpose  whatever,  and  have  spoiled  your 
chance  of  a  good  night's  rest." 

"  No,  no  !  nothing  of  the  kind.  Oh,  Lenny,  how  this  guess 
of  yours  adds  to  the  interest — the  fearful,  breathless  interest — 
we  have  in  tracing  that  woman,  and  in  finding  out  the  Myr 
tle  Room.  Do  you  think —  ?" 

"  I  have  done  with  thinking  for  the  night,  my  dear ;  and 
you  must  have  done  with  it  too.  We  have  said  more  than 
enough  about  Mrs.  Jazeph  already.  Change  the  subject,  and 
I  will  talk  of  any  thing  else  you  please." 

"It  is  not  so  easy  to  change  the  subject,"  said  Rosamond, 
pouting,  and  moving  away  to  walk  up  and  down  the  room 


246  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

"Then  let  us  change  the  place,  and  make  it  easier  that 
way.  I  know  you  think  me  the  most  provokingly  obstinate 
man  in  the  world,  but  there  is  reason  in  my  obstinacy,  and 
you  will  acknowledge  as  much  when  you  awake  to-morrow 
morning  refreshed  by  a  good  night's  rest.  Come,  let  us 
give  our  anxieties  a  holiday.  Take  me  into  one  of  the  other 
rooms,  and  let  me  try  if  I  can  guess  what  it  is  like  by  touch 
ing  the  furniture." 

The  reference  to  his  blindness  which  the  last  words  con 
tained  brought  Rosamond  td  his  side  in  a  moment.  "  You 
always  know  best,"  she  said,  putting  her  arm  round  his  neck 
and  kissing  him.  "  I  was  looking  cross,  love,  a  minute  ago, 
but  the  clouds  are  all  gone  now.  We  will  change  the  scene, 
and  explore  some  other  room,  as  you  propose." 

She  paused,  her  eyes  suddenly  sparkled,  her  color  rose,  and 
she  smiled  to  herself  as  if  some  new  fancy  had  that  instant 
crossed  her  mind. 

"Lenny,  I  will  take  you  where  you  shall  touch  a  very  re 
markable  piece  of  furniture  indeed,"  she  resumed,  leading 
him  to  the  door  while  she  spoke.  "  We  will  see  if  you  can 
tell  me  at  once  what  it  is  like.  You  must  not  be  impatient, 
mind ;  and  you  must  promise  to  touch  nothing  till  you  feel 
me  guiding  your  hand." 

She  drew  him  after  her  along  the  passage,  opened  the  door 
of  the  room  in  which  the  baby  had  been  put  to  bed,  made  a 
sign  to  the  nurse  to  be  silent,  and,  leading  Leonard  up  to  the 
cot,  guided  his  hand  down  gently,  so  as  to  let  the  tips  of  his 
fingers  touch  the  child's  cheek. 

"There,  Sir!"  she  cried,  her  face  beaming  with  happiness 
as  she  saw  the  sudden  flush  of  surprise  and  pleasure  which 
changed  her  husband's  natural  quiet,  subdued  expression  in 
an  instant.  "  What  do  you  say  to  that  piece  of  furniture  ? 
Is  it  a  chair,  or  a  table  ?  Or  is  it  the  most  precious  thing  in 
all  the  house,  in  all  Cornwall,  in  all  England,  in  all  the  world  ? 
Kiss  it,  and  see  what  it  is — a  bust  of  a  baby  by  a  sculptor, 
or  a  living  cherub  by  your  wife  !"  She  turned,  laughing,  to 
the  nurse — "Hannah,  you  look  so  serious  that  I  am  sure  you 
must  be  hungry.  Have  you  had  your  supper  yet?"  The 
woman  smiled,  and  answered  that  she  had  arranged  to  go 
down  stairs,  as  soon  as  one  of  the  servants  could  relieve  her 
in  taking  care  of  the  child.  "  Go  at  once,"  said  Rosamond. 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  247 

"  I  will  stop  here  and  look  after  the  baby.  Get  your  supper, 
and  come  back  again  in  half  an  hour." 

When  the  nurse  had  left  the  room,  Rosamond  placed  a 
chair  for  Leonard  by  the  side  of  the  cot,  and  seated  herself 
on  a  low  stool  at  his  knees.  Her  variable  disposition  seemed 
to  change  again  when  she  did  this ;  her  face  grew  thought 
ful,  her  eyes  softened,  as  they  turned,  now  on  her  husband, 
now  on  the  bed  in  which  the  child  was  sleeping  by  his  side. 
After  a  minute  or  two  of  silence,  she  took  one  of  his  hands, 
placed  it  on  his  knee,  and  laid  her  cheek  gently  down  on  it. 

"  Lenny,"  she  said,  rather  sadly, "  I  wonder  whether  we  are 
any  of  us  capable  of  feeling  perfect  happiness  in  this  world  ?" 

"What  makes  you  ask  that  question,  my  dear?" 

"  I  fancy  that  I  could  feel  perfect  happiness,  and  yet— 

"And  yet  what?" 

"  And  yet  it  seems  as  if,  with  all  my  blessings,  that  bless 
ing  was  never  likely  to  be  granted  to  me.  I  should  be  per 
fectly  happy  now  but  for  one  little  thing.  I  suppose  you 
can't  guess  what  that  thing  is  ?" 

"  I  would  rather  you  told  me,  Rosamond." 

"Ever  since  our  child  was  born,  love,  I  have  had  a  little 
aching  at  the  heart — especially  when  we  are  all  three  to 
gether,  as  we  are  now — a  little  sorrow  that  I  can't  quite  put 
away  from  me  on  your  account." 

"  On  my  account !  Lift  up  your  head,  Rosamond,  and 
come  nearer  to  me.  I  feel  something  on  my  hand  which 
tells  me  that  you  are  crying." 

She  rose  directly,  and  laid  her  face  close  to  his.  "My  own 
love,"  she  said,  clasping  her  arms  fast  round  him.  "  My  own 
heart's  darling,  you  have  never  seen  our  child." 

"  Yes,  Rosamond,  I  see  him  with  your  eyes." 

"  Oh,  Lenny  !  I  tell  you  every  thing  I  can — I  do  my  best 
to  lighten  the  cruel,  cruel  darkness  which  shuts  you  out  from 
that  lovely  little  face  lying  so  close  to  you !  But  can  I  tell 
you  how  he  looks  when  he  first  begins  to  take  notice?  can  I 
tell  you  all  the  thousand  pretty  things  he  will  do  when  he 
first  tries  to  talk?  God  has  been  very  merciful  to  us — but, 
oh,  how  much  more  heavily  the  sense  of  your  affliction  weighs 
on  me  now  when  I  am  more  to  you  than  your  wife — now  when 
I  am  the  mother  of  your  child  !" 

"And  yet  that  affliction  ought  to  weigh  lightly  on  your 


248  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

spirits,  Rosamond,  for  you  have  made  it  weigh  lightly  on 
mine." 

"  Have  I  ?  Really  and  truly,  have  I  ?  It  is  something 
noble  to  live  for,  Lenny,  if  I  can  live  for  that !  It  is  some 
comfort  to  hear  you  say,  as  you  said  just  now,  that  you  see 
with  my  eyes.  They  shall  always  serve  you — oh,  always ! 
always ! — as  faithfully  as  if  they  were  your  own.  The  veriest 
trifle  of  a  visible  thing  that  I  look  at  with  any  interest,  you 
shall  as  good  as  look  at  too.  I  might  have  had  my  own  lit 
tle  harmless  secrets,  dear,  with  another  husband;  but  with 
you  to  have  even  so  much  as  a  thought  in  secret  seems  like 
taking  the  basest,  the  crudest  advantage  of  your  blindness. 
I  do  love  you  so,  Lenny !  I  am  so  much  fonder  of  you  now 
than  I  was  when  we  were  first  married — I  never  thought  I 
should  be,  but  I  am.  You  are  so  much  handsomer  to  me,  so 
much  cleverer  to  me,  so  much  more  precious  to  me  in  every 
way.  But  I  am  always  telling  you  that,  am  I  not  ?  Do 
you  get  tired  of  hearing  me  ?  No  ?  Are  you  sure  of  that  ? 
Very,  very,  very  sure?"  She  stopped,  and  looked  at  him 
earnestly,  with  a  smile  on  her  lips,  and  the  tears  still  glis 
tening  in  her  eyes.  Just  then  the  child  stirred  a  little  in 
his  cot,  and  drew  her  attention  away.  She  arranged  the  bed 
clothes  over  him,  watched  him  in  silence  for  a  little  while, 
then  sat  down  again  on  the  stool  at  Leonard's  feet.  "  Baby 
has  turned  his  face  quite  round  toward  you  now,"  she  said. 
"Shall  I  tell  you  exactly  how  he  looks,  and  what  his  bed  is 
like,  and  how  the  room  is  furnished  ?" 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  she  began  to  describe  the 
child's  appearance  and  position  with  the  marvelous  minute 
ness  of  a  woman's  observation.  While  she  proceeded,  her 
elastic  spirits  recovered  themselves,  and  its  naturally  bright 
happy  expression  re-appeared  on  her  face.  By  the  time  the 
nurse  returned  to  her  post,  Rosamond  was  talking  with  all 
her  accustomed  vivacity,  and  amusing  her  husband  with  all 
her  accustomed  success. 

When  they  went  back  to  the  drawing-room,  she  opened 
the  piano  and  sat  down  to  play.  "I  must  give  you  your 
usual  evening  concert,  Lenny,"  she  said,  "  or  I  shall  be  talk 
ing  again  on  the  forbidden  subject  of  the  Myrtle  Room." 

She  played  some  of  Mr.  Frankland's  favorite  airs,  with  a 
certain  union  of  feeling  and  fancifulness  in  her  execution  of 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  249 

the  music,  which  seemed  to  blend  the  charm  of  her  own  dis 
position  with  the  charm  of  the  melodies  which  sprang  into  life 
under  her  touch.  After  playing  through  the  airs  she  could 
remember  most  easily,  she  ended  with  the  Last  Waltz  of  Web 
er.  It  was  Leonard's  favorite,  and  it  was  always  reserved  on 
that  account  to  grace  the  close  of  the  evening's  performance. 

She  lingered  longer  than  usual  over  the  last  plaintive 
notes  of  the  waltz;  then  suddenly  left  the  piano,  and  has 
tened  across  the  room  to  the  fire-place. 

"Surely  it  has  turned  much  colder  within  the  last  minute 
or  two,"  she  said,  kneeling  down  on  the  rug,  and  holding  her 
face  and  hands  over  the  fire. 

"Has  it?"  returned  Leonard.     "I  don't  feel  any  change." 

"Perhaps  I  have  caught  cold,"  said  Rosamond.  "  Or  per 
haps,"  she  added,  laughing  rather  uneasily,  "the  wind  that 
goes  before  the  ghostly  lady  of  the  north  rooms  has  been 
blowing  over  me.  I  certainly  felt  something  like  a  sudden 
chill,  Lenny,  while  I  was  playing  the  last  notes  of  Weber." 

"  Nonsense,  Rosamond.  You  are  overfatigued  and  over 
excited.  Tell  your  maid  to  make  you  some  hot  wine  and 
water,  and  lose  no  time  in  getting  to  bed." 

Rosamond  cowered  closer  over  the  fire.  "  It's  lucky  I  am 
not  superstitious,"  she  said,  "or  I  might  fancy  that  I  was 
predestined  to  see  the  ghost." 


CHAPTER  IV. 

STANDING    ON   THE    BRINK. 

THE  first  night  at  Porthgenna  passed  without  the  slightest 
noise  or  interruption  of  any  kind.  No  ghost,  or  dream  of  a 
ghost,  disturbed  the  soundness  of  Rosamond's  slumbers.  She 
awoke  in  her  usual  spirits  and  her  usual  health,  and  was  out 
in  the  west  garden  before  breakfast. 

The  sky  was  cloudy,  and  the  wind  veered  about  capricious 
ly  to  all  the  points  of  the  compass.  In  the  course  of  her 
walk  Rosamond  met  with  the  gardener,  and  asked  him  what 
he  thought  about  the  weather.  The  man  replied  that  it 
might  rain  again  before  noon,  but  that,  unless  he  was  very 
much  mistaken,  it  was  going  to  turn  to  heat  in  the  course  of 
the  next  four-and-twenty  hours. 


250  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

"  Pray,  did  you  ever  hear  of  a  room  on  the  north  side  of  our 
old  house  called  the  Myrtle  Room?"  inquired  Rosamond. 
She  had  resolved,  on  rising  that  morning,  not  to  lose  a  chance 
of  making  the  all -important  discovery  for  want  of  asking 
questions  of  every  body  in  the  neighborhood ;  and  she  began 
with  the  gardener  accordingly. 

"  I  never  heard  tell  of  it,  ma'am,"  said  the  man.  "  But  it's 
a  likely  name  enough,  considering  how  the  myrtles  do  grow 
in  these  parts." 

"  Are  there  any  myrtles  growing  at  the  north  side  of  the 
house  ?"  asked  Rosamond,  struck  with  the  idea  of  tracing  the 
mysterious  room  by  searching  for  it  outside  the  building  in 
stead  of  inside.  "  I  mean  close  to  the  walls,"  she  added,  see 
ing  the  man  look  puzzled  ;  "  under  the  windows,  you  know  ?" 

"I  never  see  any  thing  under  the  windows  in  my  time  but 
weeds  and  rubbish,"  replied  the  gardener. 

Just  then  the  breakfast-bell  rang.  Rosamond  returned  to 
the  house,  determined  to  explore  the  north  garden,  and  if  she 
found  any  relic  of  a  bed  of  myrtles  to  mark  the  window  above 
it,  and  to  have  the  room  which  that  window  lighted  opened 
immediately.  She  confided  this  new  scheme  to  her  husband. 
He  complimented  her  on  her  ingenuity,  but  confessed  that 
he  had  no  great  hope  of  any  discoveries  being  made  out  of 
doors,  after  what  the  gardener  had  said  about  the  weeds  and 
rubbish. 

As  soon  as  breakfast  was  over,  Rosamond  rang  the  bell  to 
order  the  gardener  to  be  in  attendance,  and  to  say  that  the 
keys  of  the  north  rooms  would  be  wanted.  The  summons 
was  answered  by  Mr.  Frankland's  servant,  who  brought  np 
with  him  the  morning's  supply  of  letters,  which  the  postman 
had  just  delivered.  Rosamond  turned  them  over  eagerly, 
pounced  on  one  with  an  exclamation  of  delight,  and  said  to 
her  husband — "The  Long  Becklcy  postmark!  News  from 
the  vicar,  at  last !" 

She  opened  the  letter  and  ran  her  eye  over  it — then  sud 
denly  dropped  it  in  her  lap  with  her  face  all  in  a  glow.  "Len 
ny  !"  she  exclaimed,  "  there  is  news  here  that  is  positively 
enough  to  turn  one's  head.  I  declare  the  vicar's  letter  has 
quite  taken  away  my  breath  !" 

"  Read  it,"  said  Mr.  Franjdand ;  "  pray  read  it  at  once." 

Rosamond  complied  with  the  request  in  a  very  faltering, 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  251 

unsteady  voice.  Doctor  Chennery  began  his  letter  by  an 
nouncing  that  his  application  to  Andrew  Treverton  had  re 
mained  unanswered;  but  he  added  that  it  had,  nevertheless, 
produced  results  which  no  one  could  possibly  have  antici 
pated.  For  information  on  the  subject  of  those  results,  he 
referred  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frankland  to  a  copy  subjoined  of  a 
communication  marked  private,  which  he  had  received  from 
his  man  of  business  in  London. 

The  communication  contained  a  detailed  report  of  an  inter 
view  which  had  taken  place  between  Mr.  Treverton's  servant 
and  the  messenger  who  had  called  for  an  answer  to  Doctor 
Chennery's  letter.  Shrowl,  it  appeared,  had  opened  the  inter 
view  by  delivering  his  master's  message,  had  then  produced 
the  vicar's  torn  letter  and  the  copy  of  the  Plan,  and  had  an 
nounced  his  readiness  to  part  with  the  latter  for  the  consider 
ation  of  a  five-pound  note.  The  messenger  had  explained 
that  he  had  no  power  to  treat  for  the  document,  and  had  ad 
vised  Mr.  Treverton's  servant  to  wait  on  Doctor  Chennery's 
agent.  After  some  hesitation,  Shrowl  had  decided  to  do  this, 
on  pretense  of  going  out  on  an  errand — had  seen  the  agent 
— had  been  questioned  about  how  he  became  possessed  of 
the  copy — and,  finding  that  there  would  be  no  chance  of  dis 
posing  of  it  unless  he  answered  all  inquiries,  had  related  the 
circumstances  under  which  the  copy  had  been  made.  After 
hearing  his  statement,  the  agent  had  engaged  to  apply  im 
mediately  for  instructions  to  Doctor  Chennery ;  and  had  writ 
ten  accordingly,  mentioning  in  a  postcript  that  he  had  seen 
the  transcribed  Plan,  and  had  ascertained  that  it  really  ex 
hibited  the  positions  of  doors,  staircases,  and  rooms,  with  the 
names  attached  to  them. 

Resuming  his  own  letter,  Doctor  Chennery  proceeded  to 
say  that  he  must  now  leave  it  entirely  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frank- 
land  to  decide  what  course  they  ought  to  adopt.  He  had 
already  compromised  himself  a  little  in  his  own  estimation, 
by  assuming  a  character  which  really  did  not  belong  to  him, 
when  he  made  his  application  to  Andrew  Treverton ;  and  he 
felt  he  could  personally  venture  no  further  in  the  affair,  either 
by  expressing  an  opinion  or  giving  any  advice,  now  that  it 
had  assumed  such  a  totally  new  aspect.  He  felt  quite  sure 
that  his  young  friends  would  arrive  at  the  wise  and  the  right 
decision,  after  they  had  maturely  considered  the  matter  in 


252  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

all  its  bearings.  In  that  conviction,  he  had  instructed  his 
man  of  business  not  to  stir  in  the  affair  until  he  had  heard 
from  Mr.  Frankland,  and  to  be  guided  entirely  by  any  direc 
tions  which  that  gentleman  might  give. 

"Directions  !"  exclaimed  Rosamond,  crumpling  up  the  let 
ter  in  a  high  state  of  excitement  as  soon  as  she  had  read  to 
the  end  of  it.  "  All  the  directions  we  have  to  give  may  be 
written  in  a  minute  and  read  in  a  second !  What  in  the 
world  does  the  vicar  mean  by  talking  about  mature  consid 
eration  ?  Of  course,"  cried  Rosamond,  looking,  womanlike, 
straight  on  to  the  purpose  she  had  in  view,  without  wasting 
a  thought  on  the  means  by  wrhich  it  was  to  be  achieved — 
"  Of  course  we  give  the  man  his  five-pound  note,  and  get  the 
Plan  by  return  of  post !" 

Mr.  Frankland  shook  his  head  gravely.  "  Quite  impossi 
ble,"  he  said.  "  If  you  think  for  a  moment,  my  dear,  you  will 
surely  see  that  it  is  out  of  the  question  to  traffic  with  a  serv 
ant  for  information  that  has  been  surreptitiously  obtained 
from  his  master's  library." 

"  Oh,  dear !  dear !  don't  say  that !"  pleaded  Rosamond, 
looking  quite  aghast  at  the  view  her  husband  took  of  the 
matter.  "What  harm  are  we  doing,  if  we  give  the  man  his 
five  pounds  ?  He  has  only  made  a  copy  of  the  Plan  :  he  has 
not  stolen  any  thing." 

"  He  has  stolen  information,  according  to  my  idea  of  it," 
said  Leonard. 

"Well,  but  if  he  has,"  persisted  Rosamond,  "what  harm 
does  it  do  to  his  master  ?  In  my  opinion  his  master  deserves 
to  have  the  information  stolen,  for  not  having  had  the  com 
mon  politeness  to  send  it  to  the  vicar.  We  must  have  the 
Plan — oh,  Lenny,  don't  shake  your  head,  please  !  —  we  must 
have  it,  you  know  we  must !  AVhat  is  the  use  of  being  scru 
pulous  with  an  old  wretch  (I  must  call  him  so,  though  he  is 
my  uncle)  who  won't  conform  to  the  commonest  usages  of 
society  ?  You  can't  deal  with  him — and  I  am  sure  the  vicar 
would  say  so,  if  he  was  here — as  you  would  with  civilized 
people,  or  people  in  their  senses,  which  every  body  says  he  is 
not.  What  use  is  the  Plan  of  the  north  rooms  to  him?  And, 
besides,  if  it  is  of  any  use,  he  has  got  the  original ;  so  his  in 
formation  is  not  stolen,  after  all,  because  he  has  got  it  the 
whole  time — has  he  not,  dear  ?" 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  253 

"Rosamond!  Rosamond!"  said  Leonard,  smiling  at  his 
wife's  transparent  sophistries,  "  you  are  trying  to  reason  like 
a  Jesuit." 

"  I  don't  care  who  I  reason  like,  love,  as  long  as  I  get  the 
Plan." 

Mr.  Frankland  still  shook  his  head.  Finding  her  argu 
ments  of  no  avail,  Rosamond  wisely  resorted  to  the  imme 
morial  weapon  of  her  sex — Persuasion ;  using  it  at  such  close 
quarters  and  to  such  good  purposes  that  she  finally  won  her 
husband's  reluctant  consent  to  a  species  of  compromise,  which 
granted  her  leave  to  give  directions  for  purchasing  the  copied 
Plan  on  one  condition. 

This  condition  was  that  they  should  send  back  the  Plan  to 
Mr.  Treverton  as  soon  as  it  had  served  their  purpose ;  mak 
ing  a  full  acknowledgment  to  him  of  the  manner  in  which  it 
had  been  obtained,  and  pleading  in  justification  of  the  pro 
ceeding  his  own  want  of  courtesy  in  withholding  information, 
of  no  consequence  in  itself,  which  any  one  else  in  his  place 
would  have  communicated  as  a  matter  of  course.  Rosamond 
tried  hard  to  obtain  the  withdrawal  or  modification  of  this 
condition;  but  her  husband's  sensitive  pride  was  not  to  be 
touched,  on  that  point,  with  impunity,  even  by  her  light 
hand.  "I  have  done  too  much  violence  already  to  my  own 
convictions,"  he  said,  "  and  I  will  now  do  no  more.  If  we 
are  to  degrade  ourselves  by  dealing  with  this  servant,  let  us 
at  least  prevent  him  from  claiming  us  as  his  accomplices. 
Write  in  my  name,  Rosamond,  to  Doctor  Chennery's  man  of 
business,  and  say  that  we  are  willing  to  purchase  the  tran 
scribed  Plan  on  the  condition  that  I  have  stated — which  con 
dition  he  will  of  course  place  before  the  servant  in  the  plain 
est  possible  terms." 

"  And  suppose  the  servant  refuses  to  risk  losing  his  place, 
which  he  must  do  if  he  accepts  your  condition  ?"  said  Ros 
amond,  going  rather  reluctantly  to  the  writing-table. 

"  Let  us  not  worry  ourselves,  my  dear,  by  supposing  any 
thing.  Let  us  wait  and  hear  what  happens,  and  act  accord 
ingly.  When  you  are  ready  to  write,  tell  me,  and  I  will  dic 
tate  your  letter  on  this  occasion.  I  wish  to  make  the  vicar's 
man  of  business  understand  that  we  act  as  we  do,  knowing, 
in  the  first  place,  that  Mr.  Andrew  Treverton  can  not  be  dealt 
with  according  to  the  established  usages  of  society ;  and 


254  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

knowing,  in  the  second  place,  that  the  information  which  his 
servant  offers  to  us  is  contained  in  an  extract  from  a  print 
ed  book,  and  is  in  no  way,  directly  or  indirectly,  connected 
with  Mr.  Treverton's  private  affairs.  Now  that  you  have 
made  me  consent  to  this  compromise,  Rosamond,  I  must 
justify  it  as  completely  as  possible  to  others  as  well  as  to 
myself." 

Seeing  that  his  resolution  was  firmly  settled,  Rosamond 
had  tact  enough  to  abstain  from  saying  any  thing  more.  The 
letter  was  written  exactly  as  Leonard  dictated  it.  "When  it 
had  been  placed  in  the  post-bag,  and  when  the  other  letters 
of  the  morning  had  been  read  and  answered,  Mr.  Frankland 
reminded  his  wife  of  the  intention  she  had  expressed  at 
breakfast-time  of  visiting  the  north  garden,  and  requested 
that  she  would  take  him  there  with  her.  He  candidly  ac 
knowledged  that,  since  he  had  been  made  acquainted  with 
Doctor  Chennery's  letter,  he  would  give  five  times  the  sum 
demanded  by  Shrowl  for  the  copy  of  the  Plan  if  the  Myrtle 
Room  could  be  discovered,  without  assistance  from  any  one, 
before  the  letter  to  the  vicar's  man  of  business  was  put  into 
the  post.  Nothing  would  give  him  so  much  pleasure,  he  said, 
as  to  be  able  to  throw  it  into  the  fire,  and  to  send  a  plain  re 
fusal  to  treat  for  the  Plan  in  its  place. 

They  wrent  into  the  north  garden,  and  there  Rosamond's 
own  eyes  convinced  her  that  she  had  not  the  slightest  chance 
of  discovering  any  vestige  of  a  myrtle-bed  near  any  one  of 
the  windows.  From  the  garden  they  returned  to  the  house, 
and  had  the  door  opened  that  led  into  the  north  hall. 

They  were  shown  the  place  on  the  pavement  where  the 
keys  had  been  found,  and  the  place  at  the  top  of  the  first  flight 
of  stairs  where  Mrs.  Jazeph  had  been  discovered  when  the 
alarm  was  given.  At  Mr.  Frankland's  suggestion,  the  door  of 
the  room  which  immediately  fronted  this  spot  was  opened. 
It  presented  a  dreary  spectacle  of  dust  and  dirt  and  dimness. 
Some  old  pictures  were  piled  against  one  of  the  walls,  some 
tattered  chairs  were  heaped  together  in  the  middle  of  the 
floor,  some  broken  china  lay  on  the  mantel-piece,  and  a  rotten 
cabinet,  cracked  through  from  top  to  bottom,  stood  in  one 
corner.  These  few  relics  of  the  furnishing  and  fitting-up  of 
the  room  were  all  carefully  examined,  but  nothing  of  the 
smallest  importance — nothing  tending  in  the  most  remote 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  255 

degree  to  clear  up  the  mystery  of  the  Myrtle  Room — was 
discovered. 

"  Shall  we  have  the  other  doors  opened  ?"  inquired  Rosa 
mond  when  they  came  out  on  the  landing  again. 

"  I  think  it  will  be  useless,"  replied  her  husband.  "  Our 
only  hope  of  finding  out  the  mystery  of  the  Myrtle  Room — 
if  it  is  as  deeply  hidden  from  us  as  I  believe  it  to  be — is  by 
searching  for  it  in  that  room,  and  no  other.  The  search,  to 
be  effectual,  must  extend,  if  we  find  it  necessary,  to  the  pull 
ing  up  of  the  floor  and  wainscots — perhaps  even  to  the  dis 
mantling  of  the  walls.  We  may  do  that  with  one  room 
when  we  know  where  it  is,  but  we  can  not,  by  any  process 
short  of  pulling  the  whole  side  of  the  house  down,  do  it  with 
the  sixteen  rooms,  through  which  our  present  ignorance  con 
demns  us  to  wander  without  guide  or  clew.  It  is  hopeless 
enough  to  be  looking  for  we  know  not  what ;  but  let  us  dis 
cover,  if  we  can,  where  the  four  walls  are  within  which  that 
unpromising  search  must  begin  and  end.  Surely  the  floor  of 
the  landing  must  be  dusty  ?  Are  there  no  foot-marks  on  it, 
after  Mrs.  Jazeph's  visit,  that  might  lead  us  to  the  right 
door?" 

This  suggestion  led  to  a  search  for  footsteps  on  the  dusty 
floor  of  the  landing,  but  nothing  of  the  sort  could  be  found. 
Matting  had  been  laid  down  over  the  floor  at  some  former 
period,  and  the  surface,  torn,  ragged,  and  rotten  with  age, 
was  too  uneven  in  every  part  to  allow  the  dust  to  lie  smooth 
ly  on  it.  Here  and  there,  where  there  was  a  hole  through 
to  the  boards  of  the  landing,  Mr.  Frankland's  servant  thought 
he  detected  marks  in  the  dust  which  might  have  been  pro 
duced  by  the  toe  or  the  heel  of  a  shoe ;  but  these  faint  and 
doubtful  indications  lay  yards  and  yards  apart  from  each 
other,  and  to  draw  any  conclusion  of  the  slightest  impor 
tance  from  them  was  simply  and  plainly  impossible.  After 
spending  more  than  an  hour  in  examining  the  north  side  of 
the  house,  Rosamond  was  obliged  to  confess  that  the  serv 
ants  were  right  when  they  predicted,  on  first  opening  the 
door  in  the  hall,  that  she  would  discover  nothing. 

"The  letter  must  go,  Lenny,"  she  said,  when  they  returned 
to  the  breakfast-room. 

"  There  is  no  help  for  it,"  answered  her  husband.  "  Send 
away  the  post-bag,  and  let  us  say  no  more  about  it." 

M 


256  THE   DEAD   SECRET. 

The  letter  was  dispatched  by  that  day's  post.  In  the  re 
mote  position  of  Porthgenna,  and  in  the  unfinished  state  of 
the  railroad  at  that  time,  two  days  would  elapse  before  an 
answer  from  London  could  be  reasonably  hoped  for.  Feel 
ing  that  it  would  be  better  for  Rosamond  if  this  period  of 
suspense  was  passed  out  of  the  house,  Mr.  Frankland  pro 
posed  to  fill  up  the  time  by  a  little  excursion  along  the  coast 
to  some  places  famous  for  their  scenery,  which  would  be 
likely  to  interest  his  wife,  and  which  she  might  occupy  her 
self  pleasantly  in  describing  on  the  spot  for  the  benefit  of  her 
husband.  This  suggestion  was  immediately  acted  on.  The 
young  couple  left  Porthgenna,  and  only  returned  on  the 
evening  of  the  second  day. 

On  the  morning  of  the  third  day  the  longed-for  letter  from 
the  vicar's  man  of  business  lay  on  the  table  when  Leonard 
and  Rosamond  entered  the  breakfast-room.  Shrowl  had  de 
cided  to  accept  Mr.  Frankland's  condition — first,  because  he 
held  that  any  man  must  be  out  of  his  senses  who  refused  a 
five-pound  note  when  it  was  offered  to  him ;  secondly,  be 
cause  he  believed  that  his  master  was  too  absolutely  depend 
ent  on  him  to  turn  him  away  for  any  cause  whatever ;  thirdly, 
because,  if  Mr.  Treverton  did  part  with  him,  he  was  not  suffi 
ciently  attached  to  his  place  to  care  at  all  about  losing  it. 
Accordingly  the  bargain  had  been  struck  in  five  minutes — 
and  there  was  the  copy  of  the  Plan,  inclosed  with  the  letter 
of  explanation  to  attest  the  fact ! 

Rosamond  spread  the  all-important  document  out  on  the 
table  with  trembling  hands,  looked  it  over  eagerly  for  a  few 
moments,  and  laid  her  finger  on  the  square  that  represented 
the  position  of  the  Myrtle  Room. 

"  Here  it  is  !"  she  cried.  "  Oh,  Lenny,  how  my  heart  beats ! 
One,  two,  three,  four — the  fourth  door  on  the  first-floor  land 
ing  is  the  door  of  the  Myrtle  Room !" 

She  would  have  called  at  once  for  the  keys  of  the  north 
rooms;  but  her  husband  insisted  on  her  waiting  until  she 
had  composed  herself  a  little,  and  until  she  had  taken  some 
breakfast.  In  spite  of  all  he  could  say,  the  meal  was  hurried 
over  so  rapidly  that  in  ten  minutes  more  his  wife's  arm  was 
in  his,  and  she  was  leading  him  to  the  staircase. 

The  gardener's  prognostication  about  the  weather  had 
been  verified :  it  had  turned  to  heat — heavy,  misty,  vapor- 


TUE    DEAD   SECRET.  257 

ous,  dull  heat.  One  white  quivering  fog-cloud  spread  thinly 
over  all  the  heaven,  rolled  down  seaward  on  the  horizon  line, 
and  dulled  the  sharp  edges  of  the  distant  moorland  view. 
The  sunlight  shone  pale  and  trembling ;  the  lightest,  highest 
leaves  of  flowers  at  open  windows  were  still ;  the  domestic 
animals  lay  about  sleepily  in  dark  corners.  Chance  house 
hold  noises  sounded  heavy  and  loud  in  the  languid,  airless 
stillness  which  the  heat  seemed  to  hold  over  the  earth.  Down 
in  the  servants'  hall,  the  usual  bustle  of  morning  work  was 
suspended.  When  Rosamond  looked  in,  on  her  way  to  the 
housekeeper's  room  to  get  the  keys,  the  women  were  fanning 
themselves,  and  the  men  were  sitting  with  their  coats  off. 
They  were  all  talking  peevishly  about  the  heat,  and  all 
agreeing  that  such  a  day  as  that,  in  the  month  of  June,  they 
had  never  known  and  never  heard  of  before. 

Rosamond  took  the  keys,  declined  the  housekeeper's  offer 
to  accompany  her,  and  leading  her. husband  along  the  pas 
sages,  unlocked  the  door  of  the  north  hall. 

"How  unnaturally  cool  it  is  here!"  she  said,  as  they  en 
tered  the  deserted  place. 

At  the  foot  of  the  stairs  she  stopped,  and  took  a  firmer 
hold  of  her  husband's  arm. 

"Is  any  thing  the  matter?"  asked  Leonard.  "Is  the 
change  to  the  damp  coolness  of  this  place  affecting  you  in 
any  way  ?" 

"  No,  no,"  she  answered  hastily.  "I  am  far  too  excited  to 
feel  either  heat  or  damp,  as  I  might  feel  them  at  other  times. 
But,  Lenny,  supposing  your  guess  about  Mrs.  Jazeph  is 
right?—" 

"Yes?" 

"  And,  supposing  we  discover  the  Secret  of  the  Myrtle 
Room,  might  it  not  turn  out  to  be  something  concerning 
my  father  or  my  mother  which  we  ought  not  to  know  ? 
I  thousrht  of  that  when  Mrs.  Pentreath  offered  to  accom- 

O 

pany  us,  and  it  determined  me  to  come  here  alone  with 
you." 

"It  is  just  as  likely  that  the  Secret  might  be  something 
we  ought  to  know,"  replied  Mr.  Frankland,  after  a  moment's 
thought.  "  In  any  case,  my  idea  about  Mrs.  Jazeph  is,  after 
all,  only  a  guess  in  the  dark.  However,  Rosamond,  if  you 
feel  any  hesitation — " 


258  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

"  No  !  come  what  may  of  it,  Lenny,  we  can't  go  back  now. 
Give  me  your  hand  again.  We  have  traced  the  mystery  thus 
far  together,  and  together  we  will  find  it  out." 

She  ascended  the  staircase,  leading  him  after  her,  as  she 
spoke.  On  the  landing  she  looked  again  at  the  Plan,  and 
satisfied  herself  that  the  first  impression  she  had  derived  from 
it,  of  the  position  of  the  Myrtle  Room,  was  correct.  She 
counted  the  doors  on  to  the  fourth,  and  looked  out  from  the 
bunch  the  key  numbered  "  IV.,"  and  put  it  in  the  lock. 

Before  she  turned  it  she  paused,  and  looked  round  at  her 
husband. 

He  was  standing  by  her  side,  with  his  patient  face  turned 
expectantly  toward  the  door.  She  put  her  right  hand  on 
the  key,  turned  it  slowly  in  the  lock,  drew  him  closer  to  her 
with  her  left  hand,  and  paused  again. 

"  I  don't  know  what  has  come  to  me,"  she  whispered 
faintly.  "  I  feel  as  if  I  was  afraid  to  push  open  the  door." 

"  Your  hand  is  cold,  Rosamond.  Wait  a  little — lock  the 
door  again — put  it  off  till  another  day." 

He  felt  his  wife's  fingers  close  tighter  and  tighter  on  his 
hand  while  he  said  those  words.  Then  there  was  an  instant 
— one  memorable,  breathless  instant,  never  to  be  forgotten 
afterward — of  utter  silence.  Then  he  heard  the  sharp,  crack 
ing  sound  of  the  opening  door,  and  felt  himself  drawn  for 
ward  suddenly  into  a  changed  atmosphere,  and  knew  that 
Rosamond  and  he  were  in  the  Myrtle  Room. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE     MYRTLE     BOOM. 

A  BROAD,  square  window,  with  small  panes  and  dark  sashes; 
dreary  yellow  light,  glimmering  through  the  dirt  of  half  a 
century  crusted  on  the  glass ;  purer  rays  striking  across  the 
dimness  through  the  fissures  of  three  broken  panes ;  dust 
floating  upward,  pouring  downward,  rolling  smoothly  round 
and  round  in  the  still  atmosphere;  lofty, bare,  faded  red  walls; 
chairs  in  confusion,  tables  placed  awry ;  a  tall  black  book 
case,  with  an  open  door  half  dropping  from  its  hinges;  a  ped 
estal,  with  a  broken  bust  lying  in  fragments  at  its  feet ;  a 
ceiling  darkened  by  stains,  a  floor  whitened  by  dust — such 


BEFORE  SHE  TURNED  IT  SHE  PAUSED,  AND  LOOKED  ROUND  AT 
HER  HUSBAND." 


THE    DEAD   SECKET.  259 

was  the  aspect  of  the  Myrtle  Room  when  Rosamond  first  en 
tered  it,  leading  her  husband  by  the  hand. 

After  passing  the  door-way,  she  slowly  advanced  a  few 
steps,  and  then  stopped,  waiting  with  every  sense  on  the 
watch,  with  every  faculty  strung  up  to  the  highest  pitch  of 
expectation — waiting  in  the  ominous  stillness,  in  the  forlorn 
solitude,  for  the  vague  Something  which  the  room  might 
contain,  which  might  rise  visibly  before  her,  which  might 
sound  audibly  behind  her,  which  might  touch  her  on  a  sud 
den  from  above,  from  below,  from  either  side.  A  minute  or 
more  she  breathlessly  waited;  and  nothing  appeared,  nothing 
sounded,  nothing  touched  her.  The  silence  and  the  solitude 
had  their  secret  to  keep,  and  kept  it. 

She  looked  round  at  her  husband.  His  face,  so  quiet  and 
composed  at  other  times,  expressed  doubt  and  uneasiness 
now.  His  disengaged  hand  was  outstretched,  and  moving 
backward  and  forward  and  up  and  down,  in  the  vain  attempt 
to  touch  something  which  might  enable  him  to  guess  at'  the 
position  in  which  he  was  placed.  His  look  and  action,  as  he 
stood  in  that  new  and  strange  sphere,  the  mute  appeal  which 
he  made  so  sadly  and  so  unconsciously  to  his  wife's  loving  help, 
restored  Rosamond's  self-possession  by  recalling  her  heart 
to  the  dearest  of  all  its  interests,  to  the  holiest  of  all  its  cares. 
Her  eyes,  fixed  so  distrustfully  but  the  moment  before  on 
the  dreary  spectacle  of  neglect  and  ruin  which  spread  around 
them,  turned  fondly  to  her  husband's  face,  radiant  with  the  un 
fathomable  brightness  of  pity  and  love.  Shebent  quickly  across 
him,  caught  his  outstretched  arm,  and  pressed  it  to  his  side. 

"  Don't  do  that,  darling,"  she  said,  gently ;  "  I  don't  like 
to  see  it.  It  looks  as  if  you  had  forgotten  that  I  was  with 
you — as  if  you  were  left  alone  and  helpless.  What  need  have 
you  of  your  sense  of  touch,  when  you  have  got  me?  Did  you 
hear  me  open  the  door,  Lenny  ?  Do  you  know  that  we  are 
in  the  Myrtle  Room?" 

"  What  did  you  see,  Rosamond,  when  you  opened  the  door? 
What  do  you  see  now  ?"  He  asked  those  questions  rapidly 
and  eagerly,  in  a  whisper. 

"  Nothing  but  dust  and  dirt  and  desolation.  The  loneliest 
moor  in  Cornwall  is  not  so  lonely  looking  as  this  room ;  but 
there  is  nothing  to  alarm  us,  nothing  (except  one's  own  fancy) 
that  suggests  an  idea  of  danger  of  any  kind." 


260  THE    DEAD   SECKET. 

"  What  made  you  so  long  before  you  spoke  to  me,  Rosa 
mond  ?" 

"  I  was  frightened,  love,  on  first  entering  the  room — not  at 
what  I  saw,  but  at  my  own  fanciful  ideas  of  what  I  might 
see.  I  was  child  enough  to  be  afraid  of  something  starting 
out  of  the  walls,  or  of  something  rising  through  the  floor ;  in 
short,  of  I  hardly  know  what.  I  have  got  over  those  fears, 
Lenny,  but  a  certain  distrust  of  the  room  still  clings  to  me. 
Do  you  feel  it  ?" 

"  I  feel  something  like  it,"  he  replied,  uneasily.  "  I  feel 
as  if  the  night  that  is  always  before  my  eyes  was  darker  to 
me  in  this  place  than  in  any  other.  Where  are  we  standing 
now  ?" 

"Just  inside  the  door." 

"  Does  the  floor  look  safe  to  walk  on  ?"  He  tried  it  sus 
piciously  with  his  foot  as  he  put  the  question. 

"  Quite  safe,"  replied  Rosamond.  "  It  would  never  sup 
port  the  furniture  that  is  on  it  if  it  was  so  rotten  as  to  be 
dangerous.  Come  across  the  room  with  me,  and  try  it." 
With  these  words  she  led  him  slowly  to  the  window. 

"  The  air  seems  as  if  it  was  nearer  to  me,"  he  said,  bending 
his  face  forward  toward  the  lowest  of  the  broken  panes. 
"  What  is  before  us  now  ?" 

She  told  him,  describing  minutely  the  size  and  appearance 
of  the  window.  He  turned  from  it  carelessly,  as  if  that  part 
of  the  room  had  no  interest  for  him.  Rosamond  still  lingered 
near  the  window,  to  try  if  she  could  feel  a  breath  of  the  outer 
atmosphere.  There  was  a  momentary  silence,  which  was 
broken  by  her  husband. 

"  What  are  you  doing  now  ?"  he  asked  anxiously. 

"  I  am  looking  out  at  one  of  the  broken  panes  of  glass,  and 
trying  to  get  some  air,"  answered  Rosamond.  "  The  shadow 
of  the  house  is  below  me,  resting  on  the  lonely  garden ;  but 
there  is  no  coolness  breathing  up  from  it.  I  see  the  tall 
weeds  rising  straight  and  still,  and  the  tangled  wild-flowers 
interlacing  themselves  heavily.  There  is  a  tree  near  me, 
and  the  leaves  look  as  if  they  were  all  struck  motionless. 
Away  to  the  left,  there  is  a  peep  of  white  sea  and  tawny  sand 
quivering  in  the  yellow  heat.  There  are  no  clouds ;  there  is 
no  blue  sky.  The  mist  quenches  the  brightness  of  the  sun 
light,  and  lets  nothing  but  the  fire  of  it  through.  There  is 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  261 

something  threatening  in  the  sky,  and  the  earth  seems  to 
know  it !" 

"  But  the  room !  the  room  !"  said  Leonard,  drawing  her 
aside  from  the  window.  "  Never  mind  the  view ;  tell  me 
what  the  room  is  like — exactly  what  it  is  like.  I  shall  not 
feel  easy  about  you,  Rosamond,  if  you  don't  describe  every 
thing  to  me  just  as  it  is." 

"  My  darling  !  You  know  you  can  depend  on  my  describ 
ing  every  thing.  I  am  only  doubting  where  to  begin,  and 
how  to  make  sure  of  seeing  for  you  what  you  are  likely  to 
think  most  worth  looking  at.  Here  is  an  old  ottoman  against 
the  wall — the  wall  where  the  window  is.  I  will  take  off  my 
apron  and  dust  the  seat  for  you ;  and  then  you  can  sit  down 
and  listen  comfortably  while  I  tell  you,  before  we  think  of 
any  thing  else,  what  the  room  is  like,  to  begin  with.  First  of 
all,  I  suppose,  I  must  make  you  understand  how  large  it  is  ?" 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  first  thing.  Try  if  you  can  compare  it 
with  any  room  that  I  was  familiar  with  before  I  lost  my 
sight."  " 

Rosamond  looked  backward  and  forward,  from  wall  to 
wall — then  went  to  the  fire-place,  and  walked  slowly  down 
the  length  of  the  room,  counting  her  steps.  Pacing  over  the 
dusty  floor  with  a  dainty  regularity  and  a  childish  satisfac 
tion  in  looking  down  at  the  gay  pink  rosettes  on  her  morning 
shoes ;  holding  up  her  crisp,  bright  muslin  dress  out  of  the 
dirt,  and  showing  the  fanciful  embroidery  of  her  petticoat, 
and  the  glossy  stockings  that  fitted  her  little  feet  and  ankles 
like  a  second  skin,  she  moved  through  the  dreariness,  the 
desolation,  the  dingy  ruin  of  the  scene  around  her,  the  most 
charming  living  contrast  to  its  dead  gloom  that  youth,  health, 
and  beauty  could  present. 

Arrived  at  the  bottom  of  the  room,  she  reflected  a  little, 
and  said  to  her  husband — 

"  Do  you  remember  the  blue  drawing-room,  Lenny,  in  your 
father's  house  at  Long  Beckley  ?  I  think  this  room  is  quite 
as  large,  if  not  larger." 

"What  are  the  walls  like?"  asked  Leonard,  placing  his 
hand  on  the  wall  behind  him  while  he  spoke.  "They  are 
covered  with  paper,  are  they  not  ?" 

"  Yes ;  with  faded  red  paper,  except  on  one  side,  where 
strips  have  been  torn  off  and  thrown  on  the  floor.  There  is 

M2 


262  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

wainscoting  round  the  walls.  It  is  cracked  in  many  places, 
and  has  ragged  holes  in  it,  which  seem  to  have  been  made  by 
the  rats  and  mice." 

"Are  there  any  pictures  on  the  walls  ?" 

"  No.  There  is  an  empty  frame  over  the  fire-place.  And 
opposite — I  mean  just  above  where  I  am  standing  now — 
there  is  a  small  mirror,  cracked  in  the  centre,  with  broken 
branches  for  candlesticks  projecting  on  either  side  of  it. 
Above  that,  again,  there  is  a  stag's  head  and  antlers;  some 
of  the  face  has  dropped  away,  and  a  perfect  maze  of  cobwebs 
is  stretched  between  the  horns.  On  the  other  walls  there 
are  large  nails,  with  more  cobwebs  hanging  down  from  them 
heavy  with  dirt — but  no  pictures  any  where.  Now  you  know 
every  thing  about  the  walls.  What  is  the  next  thing  ?  The 
floor?" 

"I  think,  Rosamond,  my  feet  have  told  me  already  what 
the  floor  is  like  ?" 

"  They  may  have  told  you  that  it  is  bare,  dear ;  but  I  can 
tell  you  more  than  that.  It  slopes  down  from  every  side  to 
ward  the  middle  of  the  room.  It  is  covered  thick  with  dust, 
which  is  swept  about  —  I  suppose  by  the  wind  blowing 
through  the  broken  panes  —  into  strange,  wavy,  feathery 
shapes  that  quite  hide  the  floor  beneath.  Lenny  !  suppose 
these  boards  should  be  made  to  take  up  any  where  !  If  we 
discover  nothing  to-day,  we  will  have  them  swept  to-morrow. 
In  the  mean  time,  I  must  go  on  telling  you  about  the  room, 
must  I  not  ?  You  know  already  what  the  size  of  it  is,  what 
the  window  is  like,  what  the  walls  are  like,  what  the  floor  is 
like.  Is  there  any  thing  else  before  we  come  to  the  furni 
ture  ?  Oh,  yes  !  the  ceiling — for  that  completes  the  shell  of 
the  room.  I  can't  see  much  of  it,  it  is  so  high.  There  are 
great  cracks  and  stains  from  one  end  to  the  other,  and  the 
plaster  has  come  away  in  patches  in,  some  places.  The  cen 
tre  ornament  seems  to  be  made  of  alternate  rows  of  small 
plaster  cabbages  and  large  plaster  lozenges.  Two  bits  of 
chain  hang  down  from  the  middle,  which,  I  suppose,  once  held 
a  chandelier.  The  cornice  is  so  dingy  that  I  can  hardly  tell 
what  pattern  it  represents.  It  is  very  broad  and  heavy,  and 
it  looks  in  some  places  as  if  it  had  once  been  colored,  and 
that  is  all  I  can  say  about  it.  Do  you  feel  as  if  you  thor 
oughly  understood  the  whole  room  now,  Lenny  ?" 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  263 

"  Thoroughly,  my  love ;  I  have  the  same  clear  picture  of 
it  in  my  mind  which  you  always  give  me  of  every  thing  you 
see.  You  need  waste  no  more  time  on  me.  We  may  now 
devote  ourselves  to  the  purpose  for  which  we  came  here." 

At  those  last  words,  the  smile  which  had  been  dawning  on 
Rosamond's  face  when  her  husband  addressed  her,  vanished 
from  it  in  a  moment.  She  stole  close  to  his  side,  and,  bend 
ing  down  over  him,  with  her  arm  on  his  shoulder,  said,  in 
low,  whispering  tones — 

"  When  we  had  the  other  room  opened,  opposite  the  land 
ing,  we  began  by  examining  the  furniture.  We  thought — 
if  you  remember — that  the  mystery  of  the  Myrtle  Room 
migTit  be  connected  with  hidden  valuables  that  had  been 
stolen,  or  hidden  papers  that  ought  to  have  been  destroyed, 
or  hidden  stains  and  traces  of  some  crime,  which  even  a  chair 
or  a  table  might  betray.  Shall  we  examine  the  furniture 
here  ?" 

"Is  there  much  of  it,  Rosamond?" 

"More  than  there  was  in  the  other  room,"  she  answered. 

"More  than  you  can  examine  in  one  morning?" 

"No;  I  think  not." 

"  Then  begin  with  the  furniture,  if  you  have  no  better  plan 
to  propose.  I  am  but  a  helpless  adviser  at  such  a  crisis  as 
this.  I  must  leave  the  responsibilities  of  decision,  after  all, 
to  rest  on  your  shoulders.  Yours  are  the  eyes  that  look  and 
the  hands  that  search ;  and  if  the  secret  of  Mrs.  Jazeph's 
reason  for  warning  you  against  entering  this  room  is  to  be 
found  by  seeking  in  the  room,  you  will  find  it — " 

"And  you  will  know  it,  Lenny,  as  soon  as  it  is  found.  I 
won't  hear  you  talk,  love,  as  if  there  was  any  difference  be 
tween  us,  or  any  superiority  in  my  position  over  yours.  Now, 
let  me  see.  What  shall  I  begin  with  ?  The  tall  book-case 
opposite  the  window  ?  or  the  dingy  old  writing-table,  in  the 
recess  behind  the  fire-place?  Those  are  the  two  largest  pieces 
of  furniture  that  I  can  see  in  the  room." 

"  Begin  with  the  book-case,  my  dear,  as  you  seem  to  have 
noticed  that  first." 

Rosamond  advanced  a  few  steps  toward  the  book-case — 
then  stopped,  and  looked  aside  suddenly  to  the  lower  end  of 
the  room. 

"  Lenny !     I  forgot  one  thing,  when   I   was  telling  you 


264  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

about  the  walls,"  she  said.  "There  are  two  doors  in  the 
room  besides  the  door  we  came  in  at.  They  are  both  in  the 
wall  to  the  right,  as  I  stand  now  with  my  back  to  the  win 
dow.  Each  is  at  the  same  distance  from  the  corner,  and  each 
is  of  the  same  size  and  appearance.  Don't  you  think  we 
ought  to  open  them  and  see  where  they  lead  to  ?" 

"  Certainly.     But  are  the  keys  in  the  locks  ?" 

Rosamond  approached  more  closely  to  the  doors,  and  an 
swered  in  the  affirmative. 

"  Open  them,  then,"  said  Leonard.  "  Stop  !  not  by  your 
self.  Take  me  with  you.  I  don't  like  the  idea  of  sitting 
here,  and  leaving  you  to  open  those  doors  by  yourself." 

Rosamond  retraced  her  steps  to  the  place  where  he  was 
sitting,  and  then  led  him  with  her  to  the  door  that  was  far 
thest  from  the  window.  "  Suppose  there  should  be  some 
dreadful  sight  behind  it !"  she  said,  trembling  a  little,  as  she 
stretched  out  her  hand  toward  the  key. 

"Try  to  suppose  (what  is  much  more  probable)  that  it 
only  leads  into  another  room,"  suggested  Leonard. 

Rosamond  threw  the  door  wide  open,  suddenly.  Her  hus 
band  was  right.  It  merely  led  into  the  next  room. 

They  passed  on  to  the  second  door.  "  Can  this  one  serve 
the  same  purpose  as  the  other  ?"  said  Rosamond,  slowly  and 
distrustfully  turning  the  key. 

She  opened  it  as  she  had  opened  the  first  door,  put  her 
head  inside  it  for  an  instant,  drew  back,  shuddering,  and 
closed  it  again  violently,  with  a  faint  exclamation  of  disgust. 

"Don't  be  alarmed,  Lenny,"  she  said,  leading  him  away 
abruptly.  "The  door  only  opens  on  a  large,  empty  cup 
board.  But  there  are  quantities  of  horrible,  crawling  brown 
creatures  about  the  wall  inside.  I  have  shut  them  in  again 
in  their  darkness  and  their  secrecy ;  and  now  I  am  going  to 
take  you  back  to  your  seat,  before  we  find  out,  next,  what 
the  book-case  contains." 

The  door  of  the  upper  part  of  the  book-case,  hanging  open 
and  half  dropping  from  its  hinges,  showed  the  emptiness  of 
the  shelves  on  one  side  at  a  glance.  The  corresponding  door, 
when  Rosamond  pulled  it  open,  disclosed  exactly  the  same 
spectacle  of  barrenness  on  the  other  side.  Over  every  shelf 
there  spread  the  same  dreary  accumulation  of  dust  and  dirt, 
without  a  vestige  of  a  book,  without  even  a  stray  scrap  of 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  265 

paper  lying  any  where  in  a  corner  to  attract  the  eye,  from 
top  to  bottom. 

The  lower  portion  of  the  book-case  was  divided  into  three 
cupboards.  In  the  door  of  one  of  the  three,  the  rusty  key 
remained  in  the  lock.  Rosamond  turned  it  with  some  diffi 
culty,  and  looked  into  the  cupboard.  At  the  back  of  it  were 
scattered  a  pack  of  playing-cards,  brown  with  dirt.  A  mor 
sel  of  torn,  tangled  muslin  lay  among  them,  which,  when 
Rosamond  spread  it  out,  proved  to  be  the  remains  of  a  cler 
gyman's  band.  In  one  corner  she  found  a  broken  corkscrew 
and  the  winch  of  a  fishing-rod ;  in  another,  some  stumps  of 
tobacco-pipes,  a  few  old  medicine  bottles,  and  a  dog's-eared 
peddler's  song-book.  These  were  all  the  objects  that  the  cup 
board  contained.  After  Rosamond  had  scrupulously  de 
scribed  each  one  of  them  to  her  husband,  just  as  she  found 
it,  she  went  on  to  the  second  cupboard.  On  trying  the  door, 
it  turned  out  not  to  be  locked.  On  looking  inside,  she  dis 
covered  nothing  but  some  pieces  of  blackened  cotton  wool, 
and  the  remains  of  a  jeweler's  packing-case. 

The  third  door  was  locked,  but  the  rusty  key  from  the  first 
cupboard  opened  it.  Inside,  there  was  but  one  object — a 
small  wooden  box,  banded  round  with  a  piece  of  tape,  the 
two  edges  of  which  were  fastened  together  by  a  seal.  Rosa 
mond's  flagging  interest  rallied  instantly  at  this  discovery. 
She  described  the  box  to  her  husband,  and  asked  if  he  thought 
she  was  justified  in  breaking  the  seal. 

"Can  you  see  any  thing  written  on  the  cover?"  he  in 
quired. 

Rosamond  carried  the  box  to  the  window,  blew  the  dust 
off  the  top  of  it,  and  read,  on  a  parchment  label  nailed  to  the 
cover:  "Papers.  John  Arthur  Treverton.  1760." 

"  I  think  you  may  take  the  responsibility  of  breaking  the 
seal,"  said  Leonard.  "  If  those  papers  had  been  of  any  family 
importance,  they  could  scarcely  have  been  left  forgotten  in 
an  old  book-case  by  your  father  and  his  executors." 

Rosamond  broke  the  seal,  then  looked  up  doubtfully  at  her 
husband  before  she  opened  the  box.  "  It  seems  a  mere  waste 
of  time  to  look  into  this,"  she  said.  "  How  can  a  box  that 
has  not  been  opened  since  seventeen  hundred  and  sixty  help 
us  to  discover  the  mystery  of  Mrs.  Jazeph  and  the  Myrtle 
Room?" 


266  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

"  But  do  we  know  that  it  has  not  been  opened  since  then?" 
said  Leonard.  u  Might  not  the  tape  and  seal  have  been  put 
round  it  by  any  body  at  some  more  recent  period  of  time  ? 
You  can  judge  best,  because  you  can  see  if  there  is  any  in 
scription  on  the  tape,  or  any  signs  to  form  an  opinion  by 
upon  the  seal." 

"  The  seal  is  a  blank,  Lenny,  except  that  it  has  a  flower 
like  a  forget-me-not  in  the  middle.  I  can  see  no  mark  of  a 
pen  on  either  side  of  the  tape.  Any  body  in  the  world  might 
have  opened  the  box  before  me,"  she  continued,  forcing  up 
the  lid  easily  with  her  hands,  "  for  the  lock  is  no  protection 
to  it.  The  wood  of  the  cover  is  so  rotten  that  I  have  pulled 
the  staple  out,  and  left  it  sticking  by  itself  in  the  lock  below." 

On  examination  the  box  proved  to  be  full  of  papers.  At 
the  top  of  the  uppermost  packet  were  written  these  words : 
"  Election  expenses.  I  won  by  four  votes.  Price  fifty  pounds 
each.  J.  A.  Treverton."  The  next  layer  of  papers  had  no 
inscription.  Rosamond  opened  them,  and  read  on  the  first 
leaf — "Birthday  Ode.  Respectfully  addressed  to  the  Mae 
cenas  of  modern  times  in  his  poetic  retirement  at  Porthgen- 
na."  Below  this  production  appeared  a  collection  of  old 
bills,  old  notes  of  invitation,  old  doctor's  prescriptions,  and 
old  leaves  of  betting-books,  tied  together  with  a  piece  of 
whip-cord.  Last  of  all,  there  lay  on  the  bottom  of  the  box 
one  thin  leaf  of  paper,  the  visible  side  of  which  presented  a 
perfect  blank.  Rosamond  took  it  up,  turned  it  to  look  at  the 
other  side,  and  saw  some  faint  ink-lines  crossing  each  other 
in  various  directions,  and  having  letters  of  the  alphabet  at 
tached  to  them  in  certain  places.  She  had  made  her  husband 
acquainted  with  the  contents  of  all  the  other  papers,  as  a 
matter  of  course;  and  when  she  had  described  this  last  paper 
to  him,  he  explained  to  her  that  the  lines  and  letters  repre 
sented  a  mathematical  problem. 

"  The  book-case  tells  us  nothing,"  said  Rosamond,  slowly 
putting  the  papers  back  in  the  box.  "  Shall  we  try  the  writ 
ing-table  by  the  fire-place,  next?" 

"  What  does  it  look  like,  Rosamond  ?" 

"It  has  two  rows  of  drawers  down  each  side;  and  the 
whole  top  is  made  in  an  odd,  old-fashioned  way  to  slope  up 
ward,  like  a  very  large  writing-desk." 

"  Does  the  top  open?" 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  267 

Rosamond  went  to  the  table,  examined  it  narrowly,  and 
then  tried  to  raise  the  top.  "  It  is  ^made  to  open,  for  I  see 
the  key-hole,"  she  said.  "But  it  is  locked.  And  all  the  draw 
ers,"  she  continued,  trying  them  one  after  another,  "  are  lock 
ed  too." 

"  Is  there  no  key  in  any  of  them  ?"  asked  Leonard. 

"  Not  a  sign  of  one.  But  the  top  feels  so  loose  that  I  really 
think  it  might  be  forced  open — as  I  forced  the  little  box  open 
just  now — by  a  pair  of  stronger  hands  than  I  can  boast  of. 
Let  me  take  you  to  the  table,  dear ;  it  may  give  way  to  your 
strength,  though  it  will  not  to  mine." 

She  placed  her  husband's  hands  carefully  under  the  ledge 
formed  by  the  overhanging  top  of  the  table.  He  exerted  his 
whole  strength  to  force  it  up;  but  in  this  case  the  wood  was 
sound,  the  lock  held,  and  all  his  efforts  were  in  vain. 

"Must  we  send  for  a  locksmith?"  asked  Rosamond,  with  a 
look  of  disappointment. 

"  If  the  table  is  of  any  value,  we  must,"  returned  her  hus 
band.  "  If  not,  a  screw-driver  and  a  hammer  will  open  both 
the  top  and  the  drawers  in  any  body's  hands." 

"In  that  case,  Lenny,  I  wish  we  had  brought  them  with  us 
when  we  came  into  the  room,  for  the  only  value  of  the  table 
lies  in  the  secrets  that  it  may  be  hiding  from  us.  I  shall  not 
feel  satisfied  until  you  and  I  know  what  there  is  inside  of  it." 

While  saying  these  words,  she  took  her  husband's  hand  to 
lead  him  back  to  his  seat.  As  they  passed  before  the  fire 
place,  he  stepped  upon  the  bare  stone  hearth ;  and,  feeling 
some  new  substance  under  his  feet,  instinctively  stretched 
out  the  hand  that  was  free.  It  touched  a  marble  tablet, 
with  figures  on  it  in  bass-relief,  which  had  been  let  into  the 
middle  of  the  chimney-piece.  He  stopped  immediately,  and 
asked  what  the  object  was  that  his  fingers  had  accidentally 
touched. 

"A  piece  of  sculpture,"  said  Rosamond.  "  I  did  not  notice 
it  before.  It  is  not  very  large,  and  not  particularly  attract 
ive,  according  to  my  taste.  So  far  as  I  can  tell,  it  seems  to 
be  intended  to  represent — " 

Leonard  stopped  her  before  she  could  say  any  more.  "  Let 
me  try,  for  once,  if  I  can't  make  a  discovery  for  myself,"  he 
said,  a  little  impatiently.  "  Let  me  try  if  my  fingers  won't 
tell  me  what  this  sculpture  is  meant  to  represent." 


268  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

He  passed  his  hands  carefully  over  the  bass-relief  (Rosa 
mond  watching  their  slightest  movement  with  silent  interest, 
the  while),  considered  a  little,  and  said— 

"  Is  there  not  a  figure  of  a  man  sitting  down,  in  the  right- 
hand  corner  ?  And  are  there  not  rocks  and  trees,  very  stiffly 
done,  high  up,  at  the  left-hand  side  ?" 

Rosamond  looked  at  him  tenderly,  and  smiled.  "  My  poor 
dear !"  she  said.  "  Your  man  sitting  down  is,  in  reality,  a 
miniature  copy  of  the  famous  ancient  statue  of  Niobe  and 
her  child ;  your  rocks  are  marble  imitations  of  clouds,  and 
your  stiffly  done  trees  are  arrows  darting  out  from  some  in 
visible  Jupiter  or  Apollo,  or  other  heathen  god.  Ah,  Lenny, 
Lenny  !  you  can't  trust  your  touch,  love,  as  you  can  trust 
me!" 

A  momentary  shade  of  vexation  passed  across  his  face ; 
but  it  vanished  the  instant  she  took  his  hand  again  to  lead 
him  back  to  his  seat.  He  drew  her  to  him  gently,  and  kissed 
her  cheek.  "  You  are  right,  Rosamond,"  he  said.  "  The  one 
faithful  friend  to  me  in  my  blindness,  who  never  fails,  is  my 
wife." 

Seeing  him  look  a  little  saddened,  and  feeling,  with  the 
quick  intuition  of  a  woman's  affection,  that  he  was  thinking 
of  the  days  when  he  had  enjoyed  the  blessing  of  sight,  Rosa 
mond  returned  abruptly,  as  soon  as  she  saw  him  seated  once 
more  on  the  ottoman,  to  the  subject  of  the  Myrtle  Room. 

"  Where  shall  I  look  next,  dear  ?"  she  said.  "  The  book 
case  we  have  examined.  The  writing-table  we  must  wait  to 
examine.  What  else  is  there  that  has  a  cupboard  or  a  drawer 
in  it  ?"  She  looked  round  her  in  perplexity  ;  then  wralked 
away  toward  the  part  of  the  room  to  which  her  attention 
had  been  last  drawn — the  part  where  the  fire-place  was  situ 
ated. 

"  I  thought  I  noticed  something  here,  Lenny,  when  I  passed 
just  now  with  you,"  she  said,  approaching  the  second  recess 
behind  the  mantel -piece,  corresponding  with  the  recess  in 
which  the  writing-table  stood. 

She  looked  into  the  place  closely,  and  detected  in  a  corner, 
darkened  by  the  shadow  of  the  heavy  projecting  mantel-piece, 
a  narrow,  rickety  little  table,  made  of  the  commonest  mahog 
any — the  frailest,  poorest,  least  conspicuous  piece  of  furniture 
in  the  whole  room.  She  pushed  it  out  contemptuously  into 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  269 

the  light  with  her  foot.  It  ran  on  clumsy  old-fashioned  cast 
ers,  and  creaked  wearily  as  it  moved. 

"  Lenny,  I  have  found  another  table,"  said  Rosamond.  "A 
miserable,  forlorn -looking  little  thing,  lost  in  a  corner.  I 
have  just  pushed  it  into  the  light,  and  I  have  discovered  one 
drawer  in  it."  She  paused,  and  tried  to  open  the  drawer; 
but  it  resisted  her.  "Another  lock!"  she  exclaimed,  impa 
tiently.  "  Even  this  wretched  thing  is  closed  against  us !" 

She  pushed  the  table  sharply  away  with  her  hand.  It 
swayed  on  its  frail  legs,  tottered,  and  fell  over  on  the  floor — 
fell  as  heavily  as  a  table  of  twice  its  size — fell  with  a  shock 
that  rang  through  the  room,  and  repeated  itself  again  and 
again  in  the  echoes  of  the  lonesome  north  hall. 

Rosamond  ran  to  her  husband,  seeing  him  start  from  his 
seat  in  alarm,  and  told  him  what  had  happened.  "  You  call 
it  a  little  table,"  he  replied,  in  astonishment.  "It  fell  like 
one  of  the  largest  pieces  of  furniture  in  the  room !" 

"  Surely  there  must  have  been  something  heavy  in  the 
drawer  !"  said  Rosamond,  approaching  the  table  with  her 
spirits  still  fluttered  by  the  shock  of  its  unnaturally  heavy 
fall.  After  waiting  for  a  few  moments  to  give  the  dust 
which  it  had  raised,  and  which  still  hung  over  it  in  thick 
lazy  clouds,  time  to  disperse,  she  stooped  down  and  ex 
amined  it.  It  was  cracked  across  the  top  from  end  to  end, 
and  the  lock  had  been  broken  away  from  its  fastenings  by 
the  fall. 

She  set  the  table  up  again  carefully,  drew  out  the  drawer, 
and,  after  a  glance  at  its  contents,  turned  to  her  husband. 
"  I  knew  it,"  she  said,  "  I  knew  there  must  be  something 
heavy  in  the  drawer.  It  is  full  of  pieces  of  copper-ore,  like 
those  specimens  of  my  father's,  Lenny,  from  Porthgenna 
mine.  Wait !  I  think  I  feel  something  else,  as  far  away  at 
the  back  here  as  my  hand  can  reach." 

She  extricated  from  the  lumps  of  ore  at  the  back  of  the 
drawer  a  small  circular  picture-frame  of  black  wood,  about 
the  size  of  an  ordinary  hand-glass.  It  came  out  with  the 
front  part  downward,  and  with  the  area  which  its  circle  in 
closed  filled  up  by  a  thin  piece  of  wood,  of  the  sort  which  is 
used  at  the  backs  of  small  frames  to  keep  drawings  and  en 
gravings  steady  in  them.  This  piece  of  wood  (only  secured 
to  the  back  of  the  frame  by  one  nail)  had  been  forced  out  of 


270  THE   DEAD   SECRET. 

its  place,  probably  by  the  overthrow  of  the  table ;  and  when 
Rosamond  took  the  frame  out  of  the  drawer,  she  observed 
between  it  and  the  dislodged  piece  of  wood  the  end  of  a 
morsel  of  paper,  apparently  folded  many  times  over,  so  as  to 
occupy  the  smallest  possible  space.  She  drew  out  the  piece 
of  paper,  laid  it  aside  on  the  table  without  unfolding  it,  re 
placed  the  piece  of  wood  in  its  proper  position,  and  then 
turned  the  frame  round,  to  see  if  there  was  a  picture  in 
front. 

There  was  a  picture — a  picture  painted  in  oils,  darkened, 
but  not  much  faded,  by  age.  It  represented  the  head  of  a 
woman,  and  the  figure  as  far  as  the  bosom. 

The  instant  Rosamond's  eyes  fell  on  it  she  shuddered,  and 
hurriedly  advanced  toward  her  husband  with  the  picture  in 
her  hand. 

"  Well,  what  have  you  found  now  ?"  he  inquired,  hearing 
her  approach. 

"  A  picture,"  she  answered,  faintly,  stopping  to  look  at  it 
again. 

Leonard's  sensitive  ear  detected  a  change  in  her  voice. 
"  Is  there  any  thing  that  alarms  you  in  the  picture  ?"  he  ask 
ed,  half  in  jest,  half  in  earnest. 

"There  is  something  that  startles  me  —  something  that 
seems  to  have  turned  me  cold  for  the  moment,  hot  as  the  day 
is,"  said  Rosamond.  "Do  you  remember  the  description  the 
servant -girl  gave  us,  on  the  night  we  arrived  here,  of  the 
ghost  of  the  north  rooms  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  remember  it  perfectly." 

"  Lenny !  that  description  and  this  picture  are  exactly 
alike !  Here  is  the  curling,  light-brown  hair.  Here  is  the 
dimple  on  each  cheek.  Here  are  the  bright  regular  teeth. 
Here  is  that  leering,  wicked,  fatal  beauty  which  the  girl  tried 
to  describe,  and  did  describe,  when  she  said  it  was  awful !" 

Leonard  smiled.  "  That  vivid  fancy  of  yours,  my  dear, 
takes  strange  flights  sometimes,"  he  said,  quietly. 

"  Fancy !"  repeated  Rosamond  to  herself.  "  How  can  it 
be  fancy  when  I  see  the  face  ?  how  can  it  be  fancy  when  I 
feel — "  She  stopped,  shuddered  again,  and,  returning  has 
tily  to  the  table,  placed  the  picture  on  it,  face  downward. 
As  she  did  so,  the  morsel  of  folded  paper  which  she  had  re 
moved  from  the  back  of  the  frame  caught  her  eye. 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  271 

"  There  may  be  some  account  of  the  picture  in  this,"  she 
said,  and  stretched  out  her  hand  to  it. 

It  was  getting  on  toward  noon.  The  heat  weighed  heavier 
on  the  air,  and  the  stillness  of  all  things  was  more  intense 
than  ever,  as  she  took  up  the  paper  from  the  table. 

Fold  by  fold  she  opened  it,  and  saw  that  there  were  writ 
ten  characters  inside,  traced  in  ink  that  had  faded  to  a  light, 
yellow  hue.  She  smoothed  it  out  carefully  on  the  table — 
then  took  it  up  again  and  looked  at  the  first  line  of  the  writ 
ing. 

The  first  line  contained  only  three  words — words  which 
told  her  that  the  paper  with  the  writing  on  it  was  not  a  de 
scription  of  the  picture,  but  a  letter — words  which  made  her 
start  and  change  color  the  moment  her  eye  fell  upon  them. 
Without  attempting  to  read  any  further,  she  hastily  turned 
over  the  leaf  to  find  out  the  place  where  the  writing  ended. 

It  ended  at  the  bottom  of  the  third  page ;  but  there  was  a 
break  in  the  lines,  near  the  foot  of  the  second  page,  and  in 
that  break  there  were  two  names  signed.  She  looked  at  the 
uppermost  of  the  two — started  again — and  turned  back  in 
stantly  to  the  first  page. 

Line  by  line,  and  word  by  word,  she  read  through  the 
writing;  her  natural  complexion  fading  out  gradually  the 
while,  and  a  dull,  equal  whiteness  overspreading  all  her  face 
in  its  stead.  When  she  had  come  to  the  end  of  the  third 
page,  the  hand  in  which  she  held  the  letter  dropped  to  her 
side,  and  she  turned  her  head  slowly  toward  Leonard.  In 
that  position  she  stood — no  tears  moistening  her  eyes,  no 
change  passing  over  her  features,  no  word  escaping  her  lips, 
no  movement  varying  the  position  of  her  limbs — in  that  po 
sition  she  stood,  with  the  fatal  letter  crumpled  up  in  her  cold 
fingers,  looking  steadfastly,  speechlessly,  breathlessly  at  her 
blind  husband. 

He  was  still  sitting  as  she  had  seen  him  a  few  minutes  be 
fore,  with  his  legs  crossed,  his  hands  clasped  together  in 
front  of  them,  and  his  head  turned  expectantly  in  the  direc 
tion  in  which  he  had  last  heard  the  sound  of  his  wife's  voice. 
But  in  a  few  moments  the  intense  stillness  in  the  room  forced 
itself  upon  his  attention.  He  changed  his  position — listened 
for  a  little,  turning  his  head  uneasily  from  side  to  side,  and 
then  called  to  his  wife. 


272  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

"Rosamond!" 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice  her  lips  moved,  and  her  fingers 
closed  faster  on  the  paper  that  they  held ;  but  she  neither 
stepped  forward  nor  spoke. 

"Rosamond!" 

Her  lips  moved  again — faint  traces  of  expression  began  to 
pass  shadow-like  over  the  blank  whiteness  of  her  face — she 
advanced  one  step,  hesitated,  looked  at  the  letter,  and  stop 
ped. 

Hearing  no  answer,  he  rose  surprised  and  uneasy.  Mov 
ing  his  poor,  helpless,  wandering  hands  to  and  fro  before  him 
in  the  air,  he  walked  forward  a  few  paces,  straight  out  from 
the  wall  against  which  he  had  been  sitting.  A  chair,  which 
his  hands  were  not  held  low  enough  to  touch,  stood  in  his 
way ;  and,  as  he  still  advanced,  he  struck  his  knee  sharply 
against  it. 

A  cry  burst  from  Rosamond's  lips,  as  if  the  pain  of  the 
blow  had  passed,  at  the  instant  of  its  infliction,  from  her  hus 
band  to  herself.  She  was  by  his  side  in  a  moment.  "  You 
are  not  hurt,  Lenny,"  she  said,  faintly. 

"  No,  no."  He  tried  to  press  his  hand  on  the  place  where 
he  had  struck  himself,  but  she  knelt  down  quickly,  and  put 
her  own  hand  there  instead,  nestling  her  head  against  him, 
while  she  was  on  her  knees,  in  a  strangely  hesitating  timid 
way.  He  lightly  laid  the  hand  which  she  had  intercepted 
on  her  shoulder.  The  moment  it  touched  her,  her  eyes  be 
gan  to  soften ;  the  tears  rose  in  them,  and  fell  slowly  one  by 
one  down  her  cheeks. 

"I  thought  you  had  left  me,"  he  said.  "There  was  such 
a  silence  that  I  fancied  you  had  gone  out  of  the  room." 

"Will  you  come  out  of  it  with  me  now?"  Her  strength 
seemed  to  fail  her  while  she  asked  the  question  ;  her  head 
drooped  on  her  breast,  and  she  let  the  letter  fall  on  the  floor 
at  her  side. 

"  Are  you  tired  already,  Rosamond  ?  Your  voice  sounds 
as  if  you  were." 

"  I  want  to  leave  the  room,"  she  said,  still  in  the  same  low, 
faint,  constrained  tone.  "Is  your  knee  easier,  dear?  Can 
you  walk  now  ?" 

"  Certainly.  There  is  nothing  in  the  world  the  matter 
with  my  knee.  If  you  are  tired,  Rosamond — as  I  know  you 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  273 

are,  though  you  may  not  confess  it — the  sooner  we  leave  the 
room  the  better." 

She  appeared  not  to  hear  the  last  words  he  said.  Her  fin 
gers  were  working  feverishly  about  her  neck  and  bosom; 
two  bright  red  spots  were  beginning  to  burn  in  her  pale 
cheeks;  her  eyes  were  fixed  vacantly  on  the  letter  at  her 
side;  her  hands  wavered  about  it  before  she  picked  it  up. 
For  a  few  seconds  she  waited  on  her  knees,  looking  at  it  in 
tently,  with  her  head  turned  away  from  her  husband — then 
rose  and  walked  to  the  fire-place.  Among  the  dust,  ashes, 
and  other  rubbish  at  the  back  of  the  grate,  were  scattered 
some  old  torn  pieces  of  paper.  They  caught  her  eye,  and 
held  it  fixed  on  them.  She  looked  and  looked,  slowly  bend 
ing  down  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  grate.  For  one  moment 
she  held  the  letter  out  over  the  rubbish  in  both  hands — the 
next  she  drew  back  shuddering  violently,  and  turned  round 
so  as  to  face  her  husband  again.  At  the  sight  of  him  a  faint 
inarticulate  exclamation,  half  sigh,  half  sob,  burst  from  her. 
"  Oh,  no,  no !"  she  whispered  to  herself,  clasping  her  hands 
together  fervently,  and  looking  at  him  with  fond,  mournful 
eyes.  "  Never,  never,  Lenny — come  of  it  what  may  !" 

"  Were  you  speaking  to  me,  Rosamond  ?" 

"  Yes.  love.  I  was  saying —  She  paused,  and,  with  trem 
bling  fingers,  folded  up  the  paper  again,  exactly  in  the  form 
in  which  she  had  found  it. 

"  Where  are  you  ?"  he  asked.  "  Your  voice  sounds  away 
from  me  at  the  other  end  of  the  room  again.  Where  are 
you  ?" 

She  ran  to  him,  flushed  and  trembling  and  tearful,  took 
him  by  the  arm,  and,  without  an  instant  of  hesitation,  with 
out  the  faintest  sign  of  irresolution  in  her  face,  placed  the 
folded  paper  boldly  in  his  hand.  "  Keep  that,  Lenny,"  she 
said,  turning  deadly  pale,  but  still  not  losing  her  firmness. 
"Keep  that,  and  ask  me  to  read  it  to  you  as  soon  as  we  are 
out  of  the  Myrtle  Room." 

"  What  is  it  ?"  he  asked. 

"The  last  thing  I  have  found,  love,"  she  replied,  looking  at 
him  earnestly,  with  a  deep  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Is  it  of  any  importance  ?" 

Instead  of  answering,  she  suddenly  caught  him  to  her 
bosom,  clung  to  him  with  all  the  fervor  of  her  impulsive  nat- 


274  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

ure,  and  breathlessly  and  passionately  covered  his  face  with 
kisses. 

"  Gently  !  gently  !"  said  Leonard,  laughing.  "  You  take 
away  my  breath." 

She  drew  back,  and  stood  looking  at  him  in  silence,  with  a 
hand  laid  on  each  of  his  shoulders.  "  Oh,  my  angel !"  she 
murmured  tenderly.  "  I  would  give  all  I  have  in  the  world, 
if  I  could  only  know  how  much  you  love  me !" 

"  Surely,"  he  returned,  still  laughing — "  Surely,  Rosamond, 
you  ought  to  know  by  this  time !" 

"  I  shall  know  soon."  She  spoke  those  words  in  tones  so 
quiet  and  low  that  they  were  barely  audible.  Interpreting 
the  change  in  her  voice  as  a  fresh  indication  of  fatigue,  Leon 
ard  invited  her  to  lead  him  away  by  holding  out  his  hand. 
She  took  it  in  silence,  and  guided  him  slowly  to  the  door. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    TELLING    OF   THE    SECRET. 

ON  their  way  back  to  the  inhabited  side  of  the  house,  Ros 
amond  made  no  further  reference  to  the  subject  of  the  folded 
paper  which  she  had  placed  in  her  husband's  hands. 

All  her  attention,  while  they  were  returning  to  the  west 
front,  seemed  to  be  absorbed  in  the  one  act  of  jealously 
watching  every  inch  of  ground  that  Leonard  walked  over, 
to  make  sure  that  it  was  safe  and  smooth  before  she  suffered 
him  to  set  his  foot  on  it.  Careful  and  considerate  as  she 
had  always  been,  from  the  first  day  of  their  married  life, 
whenever  she  led  him  from  one  place  to  another,  she  was 
now  unduly,  almost  absurdly  anxious  to  preserve  him  from 
the  remotest  possibility  of  an  accident.  Finding  that  he 
was  the  nearest  to  the  outside  of  the  open  landing  when 
they  left  the  Myrtle  Room,  she  insisted  on  changing  places, 
so  that  he  might  be  nearest  to  the  wall.  While  they  were 
descending  the  stairs,  she  stopped  him  in  the  middle,  to  in 
quire  if  he  felt  any  pain  in  the  knee  which  he  had  struck 
against  the  chair.  At  the  last  step  she  brought  him  to  a 
stand-still  again,  while  she  moved  away  the  torn  and  tangled 
remains  of  an  old  mat,  for  fear  one  of  his  feet  should  catch 
in  it.  Walking  across  the  north  hall,  she  intreated  that  he 


THE   DEAD   SECRET.  275 

would  take  her  arm  and  lean  heavily  upon  her,  because  she 
felt  sure  that  his  knee  was  not  quite  free  from  stiffness  yet. 
Even  at  the  short  flight  of  stairs  which  connected  the  en 
trance  to  the  hall  with  the  passages  leading  to  the  west  side 
of  the  house,  she  twice  stopped  him  on  the  way  down,  to 
place  his  foot  on  the  sound  parts  of  the  steps,  which  she  rep 
resented  as  dangerously  worn  away  in  more  places  than  one. 
He  laughed  good-humoredly  at  her  excessive  anxiety  to  save 
him  from  all  danger  of  stumbling,  and  asked  if  there  was  any 
likelihood,  with  their  numerous  stoppages,  of  getting  back  to 
the  west  side  of  the  house  in  time  for  lunch.  She  was  not 
ready,  as  usual,  with  her  retort ;  his  laugh  found  no  pleasant 
echo  in  hers ;  she  only  answered  that  it  was  impossible  to  be 
too  anxious  about  him ;  and  then  went  on  in  silence  till  they 
reached  the  door  of  the  housekeeper's  room. 

Leaving  him  for  a  moment  outside,  she  went  in  to  give  the 
keys  back  again  to  Mrs.  Pentreath. 

"  Dear  me,  ma'am  !"  exclaimed  the  housekeeper, "  you  look 
quite  overcome  by  the  heat  of  the  day  and  the  close  air  of 
those  old  rooms.  Can  I  get  you  a  glass  of  water,  or  may  I 
give  you  my  bottle  of  salts?" 

Rosamond  declined  both  offers. 

"  May  I  be  allowed  to  ask,  ma'am,  if  any  thing  has  been 
found  this  time  in  the  north  rooms?"  inquired  Mrs.  Pen 
treath,  hanging  up  the  bunch  of  keys. 

"  Only  some  old  papers,"  replied  Rosamond,  turning  away. 

"  I  beg  pardon  again,  ma'am,"  pursued  the  housekeeper ; 
"  but,  in  case  any  of  the  gentry  of  the  neighborhood  should 
call  to-day  ?" 

"  We  are  engaged.  No  matter  who  it  may  be,  we  are  both 
engaged."  Answering  briefly  in  these  terms,  Rosamond  left 
Mrs.  Pentreath,  and  rejoined  her  husband. 

With  the  same  excess  of  attention  and  care  which  she  had 
shown  on  the  way  to  the  housekeeper's  room,  she  now  led 
him  up  the  west  staircase.  The  library  door  happening  to 
stand  open,  they  passed  through  it  on  their  way  to  the  draw 
ing-room,  which  was  the  larger  and  cooler  apartment  of  the 
two.  Having  guided  Leonard  to  a  seat,  Rosamond  returned 
to  the  library,  and  took  from  the  table  a  tray  containing  a 
bottle  of  water  and  a  tumbler,  which  she  had  noticed  when 
she  passed  through. 


276  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

"I  may  feel  faint  as  well  as  frightened,"  she  said  quickly 
to  herself,  turning  round  with  the  tray  in  her  hand  to  return 
to  the  drawing-room. 

After  she  had  put  the  water  down  on  a  table  in  a  corner, 
she  noiselessly  locked  the  door  leading  into  the  library,  then 
the  door  leading  into  the  passage.  Leonard,  hearing  her 
moving  about,  advised  her  to  keep  quiet  on  the  sofa.  She 
patted  him  gently  on  the  cheek,  and  was  about  to  make  some 
suitable  answer,  when  she  accidentally  beheld  her  face  re 
flected  in  the  looking-glass  under  which  he  was  sitting.  The 
sight  of  her  own  white  cheeks  and  startled  eyes  suspended 
the  words  on  her  lips.  She  hastened  away  to  the  window, 
to  catch  any  breath  of  air  that  might  be  wafted  toward  her 
from  the  sea. 

The  heat-mist  still  hid  the  horizon.  Nearer,  the  oily,  col 
orless  surface  of  the  water  was  just  visible,  heaving  slowly, 
from  time  to  time,  in  one  vast  monotonous  wave  that  rolled 
itself  out  smoothly  and  endlessly  till  it  was  lost  in  the  white 
obscurity  of  the  mist.  Close  on  the  shore  the  noisy  surf  was 
hushed.  No  sound  came  from  the  beach  except  at  long, 
wearily  long  intervals,  when  a  quick  thump,  and  a  still 
splash,  just  audible  and  no  more,  announced  the  fall  of  one 
tiny,  mimic  wave  upon  the  parching  sand.  On  the  terrace 
in  front  of  the  house,  the  changeless  hum  of  summer  insects 
was  all  that  told  of  life  and  movement.  Not  a  human  figure 
was  to  be  seen  any  where  on  the  shore ;  no  sign  of  a  sail 
loomed  shadowy  through  the  heat  at  sea ;  no  breath  of  air 
waved  the  light  tendrils  of  the  creepers  that  twined  up  the 
house-wall,  or  refreshed  the  drooping  flowers  ranged  in  the 
windows.  Rosamond  turned  away  from  the  outer  prospect, 
after  a  moment's  weary  contemplation  of  it.  As  she  looked 
into  the  room  again,  her  husband  spoke  to  her. 

"  What  precious  thing  lies  hidden  in  this  paper?"  he  asked, 
producing  the  letter,  and  smiling  as  he  opened  it.  "  Surely 
there  must  be  something  besides  writing — some  inestimable 
powder,  or  some  bank-note  of  fabulous  value — wrapped  up  in 
all  these  folds  ?" 

Rosamond's  heart  sank  within  her  as  he  opened  the  letter 
and  passed  his  finger  over  the  writing  inside,  with  a  mock 
expression  of  anxiety,  and  a  light  jest  about  sharing  all  treas 
ures  discovered  at  Porthgenna  with  his  wife. 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  277 

"I  will  read  it  to  you  directly,  Lenny,"  she  said,  dropping 
into  the  nearest  seat,  and  languidly  pushing  her  hair  back 
from  her  temples.  "  But  put  it  away  for  a  few  minutes  now, 
and  let  us  talk  of  any  thing  else  you  like  that  does  not  re 
mind  us  of  the  Myrtle  Room.  I  am  very  capricious,  am  I 
not,  to  be  so  suddenly  weary  of  the  very  subject  that  I  have 
been  fondest  of  talking  about  for  so  many  weeks  past?  Tell 
me,  love,"  she  added,  rising  abruptly  and  going  to  the  back 
of  his  chair;  "do  I  get  worse  with  my  whims  and  fancies 
and  faults  ? — or  am  I  improved,  since  the  time  when  we  were 
first  married  ?" 

He  tossed  the  letter  aside  carelessly  on  a  table  which  was 
always  placed  by  the  arm  of  his  chair,  and  shook  his  forefin 
ger  at  her  with  a  frown  of  comic  reproof.  "  Oh,  fie,  Rosa 
mond  !  are  you  trying  to  entrap  me  into  paying  you  compli 
ments?" 

The  light  tone  that  he  persisted  in  adopting  seemed  abso 
lutely  to  terrify  her.  She  shrank  away  from  his  chair,  and 
sat  down  again  at  a  little  distance  from  him. 

"  I  remember  I  used  to  offend  you,"  she  continued,  quickly 
and  confusedly.  "  No,  no,  not  to  offend — only  to  vex  you  a 
little — by  talking  too  familiarly  to  the  servants.  You  might 
almost  have  fancied,  at  first,  if  you  had  not  known  me  so 
well,  that  it  was  a  habit  with  me  because  I  had  once  been  a 
servant  myself.  Suppose  I  had  been  a  servant — the  servant 
who  had  helped  to  nurse  you  in  your  illnesses,  the  servant 
who  led  you  about  in  your  blindness  more  carefully  than  any 
one  else — would  you  have  thought  much,  then,  of  the  differ 
ence  between  us?  would  you — " 

She  stopped.  The  smile  had  vanished  from  Leonard's  face, 
and  he  had  turned  a  little  away  from  her.  "  What  is  the 
use,  Rosamond,  of  supposing  events  that  never  could  have 
happened  ?"  he  asked  rather  impatiently. 

She  went  to  the  side-table,  poured  out  some  of  the  water 
she  had  brought  from  the  library,  and  drank  it  eagerly ;  then 
walked  to  the  window  and  plucked  a  few  of  the  flowers  that 
were  placed  there.  She  threw  some  of  them  away  again  the 
next  moment;  but  kept  the  rest  in  her  hand,  thoughtfully 
arranging  them  so  as  to  contrast  their  colors  with  the  best 
effect.  When  this  was  done,  she  put  them  into  her  bosom, 
looked  down  absently  at  them,  took  them  out  again,  and,  re- 

N 


278  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

turning  to  her  husband,  placed  the  little  nosegay  in  the  but 
ton-hole  of  his  coat. 

"  Something  to  make  you  look  gay  and  bright,  love — as  I 
always  wish  to  see  you,"  she  said,  seating  herself  in  her  fa 
vorite  attitude  at  his  feet,  and  looking  up  at  him  sadly,  with 
her  arms  resting  on  his  knees. 

"  What  are  you  thinking  about,  Rosamond  ?"  he  asked, 
after  an  interval  of  silence. 

"I  was  wondering,  Lenny,  whether  any  woman  in  the 
world  could  be  as  fond  of  you  as  I  am.  I  feel  almost  afraid 
that  there  are  others  who  would  ask  nothing  better  than  to 
live  and  die  for  you,  as  well  as  me.  There  is  something  in 
your  face,  in  your  voice,  in  all  your  ways — something  besides 
the  interest  of  your  sad,  sad  affliction — that  would  draw  any 
woman's  heart  to  you,  I  think.  If  I  were  to  die — 

"  If  you  were  to  die  !"  He  started  as  he  repeated  the  words 
after  her,  and,  leaning  forward,  anxiously  laid  his  hand  upon 
her  forehead.  "  You  are  thinking  and  talking  very  strangely 
this  morning,  Rosamond  !  Are  you  not  well?" 

She  rose  on  her  knees  and  looked  closer  at  him,  her  face 
brightening  a  little,  and  a  faint  smile  just  playing  round  her 
lips.  "  I  wonder  if  you  will  always  be  as  anxious  about  me, 
and  as  fond  of  me,  as  you  are  now  ?"  she  whispered,  kissing 
his  hand  as  she  removed  it  from  her  forehead.  He  leaned 
back  again  in  the  chair,  and  told  her  jestingly  not  to  look  too 
far  into  the  future.  The  words,  lightly  as  they  were  spoken, 
struck  deep  into  her  heart.  "  There  are  times,  Lenny,"  she 
said,  "  when  all  one's  happiness  in  the  present  depends  upon 
one's  certainty  of  the  future."  She  looked  at  the  letter,  which 
her  husband  had  left  open  on  a  table  near  him,  as  she  spoke ; 
and,  after  a  momentary  struggle  with  herself,  took  it  in  her 
hand  to  read  it.  At  the  first  word  her  voice  failed  her ;  the 
deadly  paleness  overspread  her  face  again ;  she  threw  the 
letter  back  on  the  table,  and  walked  away  to  the  other  end 
of  the  room. 

"  The  future  ?"  asked  Leonard.  "  What  future,  Rosamond, 
can  you  possibly  mean  ?" 

"Suppose  I  meant  our  future  at  Porthgenna?"  she  said, 
moistening  her  dry  lips  with  a  few  drops  of  water.  "  Shall 
we  stay  here  as  long  as  we  thought  we  should,  and  be  as 
happy  as  we  have  been  every  where  else  ?  You  told  me  on 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  279 

the  journey  that  I  should  find  it  dull,  and  that  I  should  be 
driven  to  try  all  sorts  of  extraordinary  occupations  to  amuse 
myself.  You  said  you  expected  that  I  should  begin  with 
gardening  and  end  by  writing  a  novel.  A  novel !"  She  ap 
proached  her  husband  again,  and  watched  his  face  eagerly 
while  she  went  on.  "  Why  not  ?  More  women  write  novels 
now  than  men.  What  is  to  prevent  me  from  trying  ?  The 
first  great  requisite,  I  suppose,  is  to  have  an  idea  of  a  story ; 
and  that  I  have  got."  She  advanced  a  few  steps  farther, 
reached  the  table  on  which  the  letter  lay,  and  placed  her 
hand  on  it,  keeping  her  eyes  still  fixed  intently  on  Leonard's 
face. 

"  And  what  is  your  idea,  Rosamond  ?"  he  asked. 

"This,"  she  replied.  "I  mean  to  make  the  main  interest 
of  the  story  centre  in  two  young  married  people.  They  shall 
be  very  fond  of  each  other — as  fond  as  we  are,  Lenny — and 
they  shall  be  in  our  rank  of  life.  After  they  have  been  hap 
pily  married  some  time,  and  when  they  have  got  one  child 
to  make  them  love  each  other  more  dearly  than  ever,  a  ter 
rible  discovery  shall  fall  upon  them  like  a  thunderbolt.  The 
husband  shall  have  chosen  for  his  wife  a  young  lady  bearing 
as  ancient  a  family  name  as — " 

"  As  your  name  ?"  suggested  Leonard. 

"  As  the  name  of  the  Treverton  family,"  she  continued,  aft 
er  a  pause,  during  which  her  hand  had  been  restlessly  moving 
the  letter  to  and  fro  on  the  table.  "The  husband  shall  be 
well-born — as  well-born  as  you,  Lenny — and  the  terrible  dis 
covery  shall  be,  that  his  wife  has  no  right  to  the  ancient  name 
that  she  bore  when  he  married  her." 

"  I  can't  say,  my  love,  that  I  approve  of  your  idea.  Your 
story  will  decoy  the  reader  into  feeling  an  interest  in  a  wom 
an  who  turns  out  to  be  an  impostor." 

"No!"  cried  Rosamond,  warmly.  "A  true  woman  —  a 
woman  who  never  stooped  to  a  deception — a  woman  full  of 
faults  and  failings,  but  a  teller  of  the  truth  at  all  hazards  and 
all  sacrifices.  Hear  me  out,  Lenny,  before  you  judge."  Hot 
tears  rushed  into  her  eyes ;  but  she  dashed  them  away  pas 
sionately,  and  went  on.  "  The  wife  shall  grow  up  to  wom 
anhood,  and  shall  marry,  in  total  ignorance — mind  that ! — 
in  total  ignorance  of  her  real  history.  The  sudden  disclos 
ure  of  the  truth  shall  overwhelm  her — she  shall  find  herself 


280  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

struck  by  a  calamity  which  she  had  no  hand  in  bringing 
about.  She  shall  be  staggered  in  her  very  reason  by  the  dis 
covery ;  it  shall  burst  upon  her  when  she  has  no  one  but  her 
self  to  depend  on;  she  shall  have  the  power  of  keeping  it  a 
secret  from  her  husband  with  perfect  impunity;  she  shall1  be 
tried,  she  shall  be  shaken  in  her  mortal  frailness,  by  one  mo 
ment  of  fearful  temptation;  she  shall  conquer  it,  and,  of  her 
own  free  will,  she  shall  tell  her  husband  all  that  she  knows 
herself.  Now,  Lenny,  what  do  you  call  that  woman  ?  an  im 
postor  ?" 

"No:  a  victim." 

"  Who  goes  of  her  own  accord  to  the  sacrifice  ?  and  who  is 
to  be  sacrificed  ?" 

"  I  never  said  that." 

"  What  would  you  do  with  her,  Lenny,  if  you  were  writing 
the  story  ?  I  mean,  how  would  you  make  her  husband  be 
have  to  her  ?  It  is  a  question  in  which  a  man's  nature  is  con 
cerned,  and  a  woman  is  not  competent  to  decide  it.  I  am 
perplexed  about  how  to  end  the  story.  How  would  you  end 
it,  love?"  As  she  ceased,  her  voice  sank  sadly  to  its  gentlest 
pleading  tones.  She  came  close  to  him,  and  twined  her  fin 
gers  in  his  hair  fondly.  "How  would  you  end  it,  love?"  she 
repeated,  stooping  down  till  her  trembling  lips  just  touched 
his  forehead. 

He  moved  uneasily  in  his  chair,  and  replied — "  I  am  not  a 
writer  of  novels,  Rosamond." 

"  But  how  would  you  act,  Lenny,  if  you  were  that  husband?" 

"  It  is  hard  for  me  to  say,"  he  answered.  "  I  have  not  your 
vivid  imagination,  my  dear.  I  have  no  power  of  putting  my 
self,  at  a  moment's  notice,  into  a  position  that  is  not  my  own, 
and  of  knowing  how  I  should  act  in  it." 

"  But  suppose  your  wife  was  close  to  you — as  close  as  I 
am  now  ?  Suppose  she  had  just  told  you  the  dreadful  secret, 
and  was  standing  before  you — as  I  am  standing  now — with 
the  happiness  of  her  whole  life  to  come  depending  on  one 
kind  word  from  your  lips  ?  Oh,  Lenny,  you  would  not  let 
her  drop  broken-hearted  at  your  feet  ?  You  would  know,  let 
her  birth  be  what  it  might,  that  she  was  still  the  same  faith 
ful  creature  who  had  cherished  and  served  and  trusted  and 
worshiped  you  since  her  marriage-day,  and  who  asked  noth 
ing  in  return  but  to  lay  her  head  on  your  bosom,  and  to  hear 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  281 

you  say  that  you  loved  her?  You  would  know  that  she  had 
nerved  herself  to  tell  the  i'atal  secret,  because,  in  her  loyalty 
and  love  to  her  husband,  she  would  rather  die  forsaken  and 
despised,  than  live,  deceiving  him?  You  would  know  all 
this,  and  you  would  open  your  arms  to  the  mother  of  your 
child,  to  the  wife  of  your  first  love,  though  she  was  the  low 
liest  of  all  lowly  born  women  in  the  estimation  of  the  world  ? 
Oh,  you  would,  Lenny,  I  know  you  would  !" 

"Rosamond!  how  your  hands  tremble;  how  your  voice 
alters  !  You  are  agitating  yourself  about  this  supposed 
story  of  yours,  as  if  you  were  talking  of  real  events." 

"You  would  take  her  to  your  heart,  Lenny?  You  would 
open  your  arms  to  her  without  an  instant  of  unworthy 
doubt  ?" 

"  Hush  !  hush  !     I  hope  I  should." 

"Hope?  only  hope?  Qh,  think  again,  love,  think  again; 
and  say  you  know  you  should  !" 

"  Must  I,  Rosamond  ?     Then  I  do  say  it." 

She  drew  back  as  the  words  passed  his  lips,  and  took  the 
letter  from  the  table. 

"  You  have  not  yet  asked  me,  Lenny,  to  read  the  letter 
that  I  found  in  the  Myrtle  Room.  I  offer  to  read  it  now  of 
my  own  accord." 

She  trembled  a  little  as  she  spoke  those  few  decisive  words, 
but  her  utterance  of  them  was  clear  and  steady,  as  if  her 
consciousness  of  being  now  irrevocably  pledged  to  make  the 
disclosure  had  strengthened  her  at  last  to  dare  all  hazards 
and  end  all  suspense. 

Her  husband  turned  toward  the  place  from  which  the 
sound  of  her  voice  had  reached  him,  with  a  mixed  expression 
of  perplexity  and  surprise  in  his  face.  "  You  pass  so  sud 
denly  from  one  subject  to  another,"  he  said,  "that  I  hardly 
know  how  to  follow  you.  What  in  the  world,  Rosamond, 
takes  you,  at  one  jump,  from  a  romantic  argument  about  a 
situation  in  a  novel,  to  the  plain,  practical  business  of  read 
ing  an  old  letter  ?" 

"Perhaps  there  is  a  closer  connection  between  the  two 
than  you  suspect,"  she  answered. 

"  A  closer  connection  ?  What  connection  ?  I  don't  under 
stand." 

"The  letter  will  explain." 


282  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

"  Why  the  letter  ?     Why  should  you  not  explain  ?" 

She  stole  one  anxious  look  at  his  face,  and  saw  that  a  sense 
of  something  serious  to  come  was  now  overshadowing  his 
mind  for  the  first  time. 

"  Rosamond  !"  he  exclaimed,  "  there  is  some  mystery — " 

"  There  are  no  mysteries  between  us  two,"  she  interposed 
quickly.  "There  never  have  been  any,  love;  there  never 
shall  be."  She  moved  a  little  nearer  to  him  to  take  her  old 
favorite  place  on  his  knee,  then  checked  herself,  and  drew 
back  again  to  the  table.  Warning  tears  in  her  eyes  bade 
her  distrust  her  own  firmness,  and  read  the  letter  where  she 
could  not  feel  the  beating  of  his  heart. 

"  Did  I  tell  you,"  she  resumed,  after  waiting  an  instant  to 
compose  herself,  "  where  I  found  the  folded  piece  of  paper 
which  I  put  into  your  hand  in  the  Myrtle  Room  ?" 

"No,"  he  replied,  "I  think  not." 

"  I  found  it  at  the  back  of  the  frame  of  that  picture — the 
picture  of  the  ghostly  woman  with  the  wicked  face.  I  opened 
it  immediately,  and  saw  that  it  was  a  letter.  The  address 
inside,  the  first  line  under  it,  and  one  of  the  two  signatures 
which  it  contained,  were  in  a  handwriting  that  I  knew." 

"  Whose !" 

"The  handwriting  of  the  late  Mrs.Treverton." 

"Of  your  mother?" 

"  Of  the  late  Mrs.Treverton." 

"  Gracious  God,  Rosamond  !  why  do  you  speak  of  her  in 
that  way  ?" 

"Let  me  read,  and  you  will  know.  You  have  seen,  with 
my  eyes,  what  the  Myrtle  Room  is  like ;  you  have  seen,  with 
my  eyes,  every  object  which  the  search  through  it  brought 
to  light ;  you  must  now  see,  with  iny  eyes,  what  this  letter 
contains.  It  is  the  Secret  of  the  Myrtle  Room." 

She  bent  close  over  the  faint,  faded  writing,  and  read  these 
words : 

"  To  my  Husband— 

"  We  have  parted,  Arthur,  forever,  and  I  have  not  had  the 
courage  to  embitter  our  farewell  by  confessing  that  I  have 
deceived  you — cruelly  and  basely  deceived  you.  But  a  few 
minutes  since,  you  were  weeping  by  my  bedside  and  speak 
ing  of  our  child.  My  wronged,  my  beloved  husband,  the 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  283 

little  daughter  of  your  heart  is  not  yours,  is  not  mine.  She 
is  a  love-child,  whom  I  have  imposed  on  you  for  mine.  Her 
father  was  a  miner  at  Porthgeuna ;  her  mother  is  my  maid, 
Sarah  Leeson." 

Rosamond  paused,  but  never  raised  her  head  from  the  let 
ter.  She  heard  her  husband  lay  his  hand  suddenly  on  the 
table ;  she  heard  him  start  to  his  feet ;  she  heard  him  draw 
his  breath  heavily  in  one  quick  gasp ;  she  heard  him  whis 
per  to  himself  the  instant  after — "  A  love-child  !"  With  a 
fearful,  painful  distinctness  she  heard  those  three  words. 
The  tone  in  which  he  whispered  them  turned  her  cold.  But 
she  never  moved,  for  there  was  more  to  read;  and  while 
more  remained,  if  her  life  had  depended  on  it,  she  could  not 
have  looked  up. 

In  a  moment  more  she  went  on,  and  read  these  lines  next : 

"  I  have  many  heavy  sins  to  answer  for,  but  this  one  sin 
you  must  pardon,  Arthur,  for  I  committed  it  through  fond 
ness  for  you.  That  fondness  told  me  a  secret  which  you 
sought  to  hide  from  me.  That  fondness  told  me  that  your 
barren  wife  would  never  make  your  heart  all  her  own  until 
she  had  borne  you  a  child;  and  your  lips  proved  it  true. 
Your  first  words,  when  you  came  back  from  sea,  and  when 
the  infant  was  placed  in  your  arms,  were — 'I  have  never  loved 
you,  Rosamond,  as  I  love  you  know.'  If  you  had  not  said  that, 
I  should  never  have  kept  -my  guilty  secret. 

"I  can  add  no  more,  for  death  is  very  near  me.  How  the 
fraud  was  committed,  and  what  my  other  motives  were,  I 
must  leave  you  to  discover  from  the  mother  of  the  child,  who 
writes  this  under  my  dictation,  and  who  is  charged  to  give 
it  to  you  wrhen  I  am  no  more.  You  will  be  merciful  to  the 
poor  little  creature  who  bears  my  name.  Be  merciful  also 
to  her  unhappy  parent :  she  is  only  guilty  of  too  blindly 
obeying  me.  If  there  is  any  thing  that  mitigates  the  bit 
terness  of  my  remorse,  it  is  the  remembrance  that  my  act 
of  deceit  saved  the  most  faithful  and  the  most  affection 
ate  of  women  from  shame  that  she  had  not  deserved.  Re 
member  me  forgivingly,  Arthur  —  words  may  tell  how  I 
have  sinned  against  you  ;  no  words  can  tell  how  I  have 
loved  you !" 


284  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

She  had  struggled  on  thus  far,  and  had  reached  the  last 
line  on  the  second  page  of  the  letter,  when  she  paused  again, 
and  then  tried  to  read  the  first  of  the  two  signatures — "  Ros 
amond  Treverton."  She  faintly  repeated  two  syllables  of 
that  familiar  Christian  name — the  name  that  was  on  her  hus 
band's  lips  every  hour  of  the  day  ! — and  strove  to  articulate 
the  third,  but  her  voice  failed  her.  All  the  sacred  household 
memories  which  that  ruthless  letter  had  profaned  forever 
seemed  to  tear  themselves  away  from  her  heart  at  the  same 
moment.  With  a  low,  moaning  cry  she  dropped  her  arms 
on  the  table,  and  laid  her  head  down  on  them,  and  hid  her 
face. 

She  heard  nothing,  she  was  conscious  of  nothing,  until  she 
felt  a  touch  on  her  shoulder — a  light  touch  from  a  hand  that 
trembled.  Every  pulse  in  her  body  bounded  in  answer  to  it, 
and  she  looked  up. 

Her  husband  had  guided  himself  near  to  her  by  the  table. 
The  tears  were  glistening  in  his  dim,  sightless  eyes.  As  she 
rose  and  touched  him,  his  arms  opened,  and  closed  fast  around 
her. 

"  My  own  Rosamond  !"  he  said,  "  come  to  me  and  be  com 
forted  !" 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  285 


BOOK    VI. 

CHAPTER  I. 

UNCLE    JOSEPH. 

THE  day  and  the  night  had  passed,  and  the  new  morning 
had  come,  before  the  husband  and  wife  could  trust  themselves 
to  speak  calmly  of  the  Secret,  and  to  face  resignedly  the  du 
ties  and  the  sacrifices  which  the  discovery  of  it  imposed  on 
them. 

Leonard's  first  question  referred  to  those  lines  in  the  letter 
which  Rosamond  had  informed  him  were  in  a  handwriting 
that  she  knew.  Finding  that  he  was  at  a  loss  to  understand 
what  means  she  could  have  of  forming  an  opinion  on  this 
point,  she  explained  that,  after  Captain  Treverton's  death, 
many  letters  had  naturally  fallen  into  her  possession  which 
had  been  written  by  Mrs.  Treverton  to  her  husband.  They 
treated  of  ordinary  domestic  subjects,  and  she  had  read  them 
often  enough  to  become  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the  pe 
culiarities  of  Mrs.  Treverton's  handwriting.  It  was  remark 
ably  large,  firm,  and  masculine  in  character;  and  the  address, 
the  line  under  it,  and  the  uppermost  of  the  two  signatures  in 
the  letter  which  had  been  found  in  the  Myrtle  Room,  exactly 
resembled  it  in  every  particular. 

The  next  question  related  to  the  body  of  the  letter.  The 
writing  of  this,  of  the  second  signature  ("  Sarah  Leeson"),  and 
of  the  additional  lines  on  the  third  page,  also  signed  by  Sarah 
Leeson,  proclaimed  itself  in  each  case  to  be  the  production  of 
the  same  person.  While  stating  that  fact  to  her  husband, 
Rosamond  did  riot  forget  to  explain  to  him  that,  while  read 
ing  the  letter  on  the  previous  day,  her  strength  and  courage 
had  failed  her  before  she  got  to  the  end  of  it.  She  added 
that  the  postscript  which  she  had  thus  omitted  to  read  was 
of  importance,  because  it  mentioned  the  circumstances  un 
der  which  the  Secret  had  been  hidden  ;  and  begged  that  he 
would  listen  while  she  made  him  acquainted  with  its  contents 
without  any  further  delay. 

N2 


286  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

Sitting  as  close  to  his  side,  now,  as  if  they  were  enjoy 
ing  their  first  honey-moon  days  over  again,  she  read  these 
last  lines — the  lines  which  her  mother  had  written  sixteen 
years  before,  on  the  morning  when  she  fled  from  Porthgenna 
Tower : 

"  If  this  paper  should  ever  be  found  (which  I  pray  with 
my  whole  heart  it  never  may  be),  I  wish  to  say  that  I  have 
come  to  the  resolution  of  hiding  it,  because  I  dare  not  show 
the  writing  that  it  contains  to  my  master,  to  whom  it  is  ad 
dressed.  In  doing  what  I  now  propose  to  do,  though  I  am 
acting  against  my  mistress's  last  wishes,  I  am  not  breaking 
the  solemn  engagement  which  she  obliged  me  to  make  before 
her  on  her  death-bed.  That  engagement  forbids  me  to  de 
stroy  this  letter,  or  to  take  it  away  with  me  if  I  leave  the 
house.  I  shall  do  neither — my  purpose  is  to  conceal  it  in  the 
place,  of  all  others,  where  I  think  there  is  least  chance  of  its 
ever  being  found  again.  Any  hardship  or  misfortune  which 
may  follow  as  a  consequence  of  this  deceitful  proceeding. on 
my  part,  will  fall  on  myself.  Others,  I  believe,  in  my  con 
science,  will  be  the  happier  for  the  hiding  of  the  dreadful  Se 
cret  which  this  letter  contains." 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt,  now,"  said  Leonard,  when  his  wife 
had  read  to  the  end ;  "  Mrs.  Jazeph,  Sarah  Leeson,  and  the  serv 
ant  who  disappeared  from  Porthgenna  Tower,  are  one  and  the 
same  person." 

"  Poor  creature  !"  said  Rosamond,  sighing  as  she  put  down 
the  letter.  "  We  know  now  why  she  warned  me  so  anxious 
ly  not  to  go  into  the  Myrtle  Room.  Who  can  say  what  she 
must  have  suffered  when  she  came  as  a  stranger  to  my  bed 
side  ?  Oh,  what  would  I  not  give  if  I  had  been  less  hasty 
with  her  !  It  is  dreadful  to  remember  that  I  spoke  to  her  as 
a  servant  whom  I  expected  to  obey  me  ;  it  is  worse  still  to 
feel  that  I  can  not,  even  now,  think  of  her  as  a  child  should 
think  of  a  mother.  How  can  I  ever  tell  her  that  I  know  the 
Secret?  how — "  She  paused,  with  a  heart-sick  consciousness 
of  the  slur  that  was  cast  on  her  birth  ;  she  paused,  shrinking 
as  she  thought  of  the  name  that  her  husband  had  given  to 
her,  and  of  her  own  parentage,  which  the  laws  of  society  dis 
dained  to  recognize. 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  287 

"  Why  do  you  stop  ?"  asked  Leonard. 

"  I  was  afraid — "  she  began,  and  paused  again. 

"  Afraid,"  he  said,  finishing  the  sentence  for  her,  "  that 
words  of  pity  for  that  unhappy  woman  might  wound  my 
sensitive  pride  by  reminding  me  of  the  circumstances  of  your 
birth  ?  Rosamond  !  I  should  be  unworthy  of  your  matchless 
truthfulness  toward  me,  if  I,  on  my  side,  did  not  acknowledge 
that  this  discovery  has  wounded  me  as  only  a  proud  man  can 
be  wounded.  My  pride  has  been  born  and  bred  in  me.  My 
pride,  even  while  I  am  now  speaking  to  you,  takes  advantage 
of  my  first  moments  of  composure,  and  deludes  me  into 
doubting,  in  face  of  all  probability,  whether  the  words  you 
have  read  to  me  can,  after  all,  be  words  of  truth.  But, 
strong  as  that  inborn  and  inbred  feeling  is — hard  as  it  may 
be  for  me  to  discipline  and  master  it  as  I  ought,  and  must 
and  will — there  is  another  feeling  in  my  heart  that  is  strong 
er  yet."  He  felt  for  her  hand,  and  took  it  in  his  ;  then  added 
— "  From  the  hour  when  you  first  devoted  your  life  to  your 
blind  husband — from  the  hour  when  you  won  all  his  grati 
tude,  as  you  had  already  won  all  his  love,  you  took  a  place  in 
his  heart,  Rosamond,  from  which  nothing,  not  even  such  a 
shock  as  has  now  assailed  us,  can  move  you  !  High  as  I 
have  always  held  the  worth  of  rank  in  my  estimation,  I  have 
learned,  even  before  the  event  of  yesterday,  to  hold  the  worth 
of  my  wife,  let  her  parentage  be  what  it  may,  higher  still." 

"  Oh,  Lenny,  Lenny,  I  can't  hear  you  praise  me,  if  you  talk 
in  the  same  breath  as  if  I  had  made  a  sacrifice  in  marrying 
you  !  But  for  my  blind  husband  I  might  never  have  deserved 
what  you  have  just  said  of  me.  When  I  first  read  that  fear 
ful  letter,  I  had  one  moment  of  vile,  ungrateful  doubt  if  your 
love  for  me  would  hold  out  against  the  discovery  of  the  Secret. 
I  had  one  moment  of  horrible  temptation,  that  drew  me  away 
from  you  when  I  ought  to  have  put  the  letter  into  your  hand. 
It  was  the  sight  of  you,  waiting  for  me  to  speak  again,  so  in 
nocent  of  all  knowledge  of  what  happened  close  by  you,  that 
brought  me  back  to  my  senses,  and  told  me  what  I  ought  to 
do.  It  was  the  sight  of  my  blind  husband  that  made  me  con 
quer  the  temptation  to  destroy  that  letter  in  the  first  hour 
of  discovering  it.  Oh,  if  I  had  been  the  hardest-hearted  of 
women,  could  I  have  ever  taken  your  hand  again — could  I  kiss 
you,  could  I  lie  down  by  your  side,  and  hear  you  fall  asleep, 


288  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

night  after  night,  feeling  that  I  had  abused  your  blind  depend 
ence  on  me  to  serve  my  own  selfish  interests  ?  knowing  that 
I  had  only  succeeded  in  my  deceit  because  your  affliction 
made  you  incapable  of  suspecting  deception  ?  No,  no  ;  I  can 
hardly  believe  that  the  basest  of  women  could  be  guilty  of 
such  baseness  as  that ;  and  I  can  claim  nothing  more  for  my 
self  than  the  credit  of  having  been  true  to  my  trust.  You 
said  yesterday,  love,  in  the  Myrtle  Room,  that  the  one  faith 
ful  friend  to  you  in  your  blindness,  who  never  failed,  was 
your  wife.  It  is  reward  enough  and  consolation  enough  for 
me,  now  that  the  worst  is  over,  to  know  that  you  can  say  so 
still." 

"  Yes,  Rosamond,  the  worst  is  over  ;  but  we  must  not  for 
get  that  there  may  be  hard  trials  still  to  meet." 

"  Hard  trials,  love  ?     To  what  trials  do  you  refer  ?" 

"  Perhaps,  Rosamond,  I  overrate  the  courage  that  the  sac 
rifice  demands  ;  but,  to  me  at  least,  it  will  be  a  hard  sacrifice 
of  my  own  feelings  to  make  strangers  partakers  in  the  knowl 
edge  that  we  now  possess." 

Rosamond  looked  at  her  husband  in  astonishment.  "  Why 
need  we  tell  the  Secret  to  any  one  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Assuming  that  we  can  satisfy  ourselves  of  the  genuine 
ness  of  that  letter,"  he  answered,  "  we  shall  have  no  choice 
but  to  tell  it  to  strangers.  You  can  not  forget  the  circum 
stances  under  which  your  father — under  which  Captain  Trev- 
erton— " 

"  Call  him  my  father,"  said  Rosamond,  sadly.  "  Remem 
ber  how  he  loved  me,  and  how  I  loved  him,  and  say  '  my  fa 
ther 'still." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  must  say  *  Captain  Treverton'  now,"  return 
ed  Leonard,  "  or  I  shall  hardly  be  able  to  explain  simply  and 
plainly  what  it  is  very  necessary  that  you  should  know.  Cap 
tain  Treverton  died  without  leaving  a  will.  His  only  proper 
ty  was  the  purchase-money  of  this  house  and  estate  ;  and  you 
inherited  it,  as  his  next  of  kin — " 

Rosamond  started  back  in  her  chair  and  clasped  her  hands 
in  dismay.  "  Oh,  Lenny,"  she  said  simply,  "  I  have  thought 
so  much  of  you,  since  I  found  the  letter,  that  I  never  remem 
bered  this  !" 

"  It  is  time  to  remember  it,  my  love.  If  you  are  not  Cap 
tain  Treverton's  daughter,  you  have  no  right  to  one  farthing 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  289 

of  the  fortune  that  you  possess ;  and  it  must  be  restored  at 
once  to  the  person  who  is  Captain  Treverton's  next  of  kin — 
or,  in  other  words,  to  his  brother." 

"  To  that  man  !"  exclaimed  Rosamond.  "  To  that  man 
who  is  a  stranger  to  us,  who  holds  our  very  name  in  con 
tempt  !  Are  we  to  be  made  poor  that  he  may  be  made 
rich  ?— " 

"We  are  to  do  what  is  honorable  and  just,  at  any  sacrifice 
of  our  own  interests  and  ourselves,"  said  Leonard,  firmly.  "I 
believe,  Rosamond,  that  my  consent,  as  your  husband,  is 
necessary,  according  to  the  law,  to  effect  this  restitution.  If 
Mr.  Andrew  Treverton  was  the  bitterest  enemy  I  had  on 
earth,  and  if  the  restoring  of  this  money  utterly  ruined  us 
both  in  our  worldly  circumstances,  I  would  give  it  back  of 
my  own  accord  to  the  last  farthing — and  so  would  you !" 

The  blood  mantled  in  his  cheeks  as  he  spoke.  Rosamond 
looked  at  him  admiringly  in  silence.  "  Who  would  have 
him  less  proud,"  she  thought,  fondly,  "  when  his  pride  speaks 
in  such  words  as  those  !" 

"  You  understand  now,"  continued  Leonard,  "  that  we  have 
duties  to  perform  which  will  oblige  us  to  seek  help  from 
others,  and  which  will  therefore  render  it  impossible  to  keep 
the  Secret  to-  ourselves  ?  If  we  search  all  England  for  her, 
Sarah  Leeson  must  be  found.  Our  future  actions  depend 
upon  her  answers  to  our  inquiries,  upon  her  testimony  to  the 
genuineness  of  that  letter.  Although  I  am  resolved  before 
hand  to  shield  myself  behind  no  technical  quibbles  and  delays 
— although  I  want  nothing  but  evidence  that  is  morally  con 
clusive,  however  legally  imperfect  it  may  be — it  is  still  im 
possible  to  proceed  without  seeking  advice  immediately. 
The  lawyer  who  always  managed  Captain  Treverton's  affairs, 
and  who  now  manages  ours,  is  the  proper  person  to  direct 
us  in  instituting  a  search,  and  to  assist  us,  if  necessary,  in 
making  the  restitution." 

"  How  quietly  and  firmly  you  speak  of  it,  Lenny !  Will 
not  the  abandoning  of  my  fortune  be  a  dreadful  loss  to  us?" 

"  We  must  think  of  it  as  a  gain  to  our  consciences,  Rosa 
mond,  and  must  alter  our  way  of  life  resignedly  to  suit  our 
altered  means.  But  we  need  speak  no  more  of  that  until  we 
are  assured  of  the  necessity  of  restoring  the  money.  My  im 
mediate  anxiety,  and  your  immediate  anxiety,  must  turn  now 


290  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

on  the  discovery  of  Sarah  Leeson — no  !  on  the  discovery  of 
your  mother ;  I  must  learn  to  call  her  by  that  name,  or  I 
shall  not  learn  to  pity  and  forgive  her." 

Rosamond  nestled  closer  to  her  husband's  side.  "  Every 
word  you  say,  love,  does  my  heart  good,"  she  whispered, 
laying  her  head  on  his  shoulder.  "  You  will  help  me  and 
strengthen  me,  when  the  time  comes,  to  meet  my  mother  as  I 
ought  ?  Oh,  how  pale  and  worn  and  weary  she  was  when 
she  stood  by  my  bedside,  and  looked  at  me  and  my  child  ! 
Will  it  be  long  before  we  find  her?  Is  she  far  away  from 
us,  I  wonder?  or  nearer,  much  nearer  than  we  think?" 

Before  Leonard  could  answer,  he  was  interrupted  by  a 
knock -at  the  door,  and  Rosamond  was  surprised  by  the  ap 
pearance  of  the  maid-servant.  Betsey  was  flushed,  excited, 
and  out  of  breath;  but  she  contrived  to  deliver  intelligibly  a 
brief  message  from  Mr.  Munder,  the  steward,  requesting  per 
mission  to  speak  to  Mr.  Frankland,  or  to  Mrs.  Frankland,  on 
business  of  importance. 

"What  is  it?     What  does  he  want?"  asked  Rosamond. 

"  I  think,  ma'am,  he  wants  to  know  whether  he  had  better 
send  for  the  constable  or  not,"  answered  Betsey. 

"  Send  for  the  constable  !"  repeated  Rosamond.  "  Are 
there  thieves  in  the  house  in  broad  daylight  ?" 

"Mr.  Munder  says  he  don't  know  but  what  it  may  be 
worse  than  thieves,"  replied  Betsey.  "  It's  the  foreigner 
again,  if  you  please,  ma'am.  He  come  up  and  rung  at  the 
door  as  bold  as  brass,  and  asked  if  he  could  see  Mrs.  Frank- 
land." 

"  The  foreigner !"  exclaimed  Rosamond,  laying  her  hand 
eagerly  on  her  husband's  arm. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Betsey.  "  Him  as  come  here  to  go 
over  the  house  along  with  the  lady — 

Rosamond,  with  characteristic  impulsiveness,  started  to  her 
feet.  "  Let  me  go  down  !"  she  began. 

"  Wait,"  interposed  Leonard,  catching  her  by  the  hand. 
"  There  is  not  the  least  need  for  you  to  go  down  stairs. — Show 
the  foreigner  up  here,"  he  continued,  addressing  himself  to 
Betsey,  "  and  tell  Mr.  Munder  that  we  will  take  the  manage 
ment  of  this  business  into  our  own  hands." 

Rosamond  sat  down  again  by  her  husband's  side.  "This 
is  a  very  strange  accident,"  she  said,  in  a  low,  serious  tone. 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  291 

"  It  must  be  something  more  than  mere  chance  that  puts  the 
clew  into  our  hands,  at  the  moment  when  we  least  expected 
to  find  it." 

The  door  opened  for  the  second  time,  and  there  appeared, 
modestly,  on  the  threshold,  a  little  old  man,  with  rosy  cheeks 
and  long  white  hair.  A  small  leather  case  was  slung  by  a 
strap  at  his  side,  and  the  stem  of  a  pipe  peeped  out  of  the 
breast  pocket  of  his  coat.  He  advanced  one  step  into  the 
room,  stopped,  raised  both  his  hands,  with  his  felt  hat  crumpled 
up  in  them,  to  his  heart,  and  made  -five  fantastic  bows  in  quick 
succession — two  to  Mrs.  Frankland,  two  to  her  husband,  and 
one  to  Mrs.  Frankland  again,  as  an  act  of  separate  and  special 
homage  to  the  lady.  Never  had  Rosamond  seen  a  more 
complete  embodiment  in  human  form  of  perfect  innocence 
and  perfect  harmlessness  than  the  foreigner  who  was  de 
scribed  in  the  housekeeper's  letter  as  an  audacious  vagabond, 
and  who  was  dreaded  by  Mr.  Munder  as  something  worse 
than  a  thief! 

"Madam  and  good  Sir,"  said  the  old  man,  advancing  a 
little  nearer  at  Mrs.  Frankland's  invitation,  "  I  ask  your  par 
don  for  intruding  myself.  My  name  is  Joseph  Buschmann. 
I  live  in  the  town  of  Truro,  where  I  work  in  cabinets  and 
tea-caddies,  and  other  shining  woods.  I  am  also,  if  you  please, 
the  same  little  foreign  man  who  was  scolded  by  the  big 
major-domo  when  I  came  to  see  the  house.  All  that  I  ask 
of  your  kindness  is,  that  you  will  let  me  say  for  my  errand 
here  and  for  myself,  and  for  another  person  who  is  very  near 
to  my  love — one  little  word.  I  will  be  but  few  minutes, 
Madam  and  good  Sir,  and  then  I  will  go  my  ways  again, 
with  my  best  wishes  and  my  best  thanks." 

"Pray  consider,  Mr.  Buschmann,  that  our  time  is  your 
time,"  said  Leonard.  "  We  have  no  engagement  whatever 
which  need  oblige  you  to  shorten  your  visit.  I  must  tell 
you  beforehand,  in  order  to  prevent  any  embarrassment  on 
either  side,  that  I  have  the  misfortune  to  be  blind.  I  can 
promise  you,  however,  my  best  attention  as  far  as  listening 
goes.  Rosamond,  is  Mr.  Buschmann  seated  ?" 

Mr.  Buschmann  was  still  standing  near  the  door,  and  was 
expressing  sympathy  by  bowing  to  Mr.  Frankland  again,  and 
crumpling  his  felt  hat  once  more  over  his  heart. 

"Pray  come  nearer,  and  sit  down,"  said  Rosamond.    "  And 


292  THE    DEAD    SECKET. 

don't  imagine  for  one  moment  that  any  opinion  of  the 
steward's  has  the  least  influence  on  us,  or  that  we  feel  it  at 
all  necessary  for  you  to  apologize  for  what  took  place  the 
last  time  you  came  to  this  house.  We  have  an  interest — a 
very  great  interest,"  she  added,  with  her  usual  hearty  frank 
ness,  "  in  hearing  any  thing  that  you  have  to  tell  us.  You 
are  the  person  of  all  others  whom  we  are,  just  at  this  time — " 
She  stopped,  feeling  her  foot  touched  by  her  husband's,  and 
rightly  interpreting  the  action  as  a  warning  not  to  speak  too 
unrestrainedly  to  the  visitor  before  he  had  explained  his  ob 
ject  in  coming  to  the  house. 

Looking  very  much  pleased,  and  a  little  surprised  also, 
when  he  heard  Rosamond's  last  words,  Uncle  Joseph  drew  a 
chair  near  to  the  table  by  which  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frankland 
were  sitting,  crumpled  his  felt  hat  up  smaller  than  ever,  and 
put  it  in  one  of  his  side  pockets,  drew  from  the  other  a  little 
packet  of  letters,  placed  them  on  his  knees  as  he  sat  down, 
patted  them  gently  with  both  hands,  and  entered  on  his  ex 
planation  in  these  terms : 

"  Madam  and  good  Sir,"  he  began,  "  before  I  can  say  com 
fortably  my  little  word,  I  must,  with  your  leave,  travel  back 
ward  to  the  last  time  when  I  came  to  this  house  in  company 
with  my  niece." 

"Your  niece!"  exclaimed  Rosamond  and  Leonard,  both 
speaking  together. 

"My  niece, Sarah,"  said  Uncle  Joseph,  "the  only  child  of 
my  sister  Agatha.  It  is  for  the  love  of  Sarah,  if  you  please, 
that  I  am  here  now.  She  is  the  one  last  morsel  of  my  flesh 
and  blood  that  is  left  to  me  in  the  world.  The  rest,  they  are 
all  gone !  My  wife,  my  little  Joseph,  my  brother  Max,  my 
sister  Agatha  and  the  husband  she  married,  the  good  and 
noble  Englishman,  Leeson — they  are  all,  all  gone  !" 

"  Leeson,"  said  Rosamond,  pressing  her  husband's  hand 
significantly  under  the  table.  "  Your  niece's  name  is  Sarah 
Leeson?" 

Uncle  Joseph  sighed  and  shook  his  head.  "  One  day,"  he 
said,  "  of  all  the  days  in  the  year  the  evilmost  for  Sarah,  she 
changed  that  name.  Of  the  man  she  married — who  is  dead 
now,  Madam — it  is  little  or  nothing  that  I  know  but  this: 
His  name  was  Jazeph,  and  he  used  her  ill,  for  which  I  think 
him  the  First  Scoundrel !  Yes,"  exclaimed  Uncle  Joseph, 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  293 

with  the  nearest  approach  to  anger  and  bitterness  which  his 
nature  was  capable  of  making,  and  with  an  idea  that  he  was 
using  one  of  the  strongest  superlatives  in  the  language — 
"  Yes  !  if  he  was  to  come  to  life  again  at  this  very  moment 
of  time,  I  would  say  it  of  him  to  his  face — Englishman  Ja- 
zeph,  you  are  the  First  Scoundrel !" 

Rosamond  pressed  her  husband's  hand  for  the  second  time. 
If  their  own  convictions  had  not  already  identified  Mrs.  Ja- 
zeph  with  Sarah  Leeson,  the  old  man's  last  words  must  have 
amply  sufficed  to  assure  them  that  both  names  had  been 
borne  by  the  same  person. 

"  Well,  then,  I  shall  now  travel  backward  to  the  time  when 
I  was  here  with  Sarah,  my  niece,"  resumed  Uncle  Joseph. 
"I  must,  if  you  please,  speak  the  truth  in  this  business,  or, 
now  that  I  am  already  backward  where  I  want  to  be,  I  shall 
stick  fast  in  my  place,  and  get  on  no  more  for  the  rest  of  my 
life.  Sir  and  good  Madam,  will  you  have  the  great  kindness 
to  forgive  me  and  Sarah,  my  niece,  if  I  confess  that  it  was  not 
to  see  the  house  that  we  came  here  and  rang  at  the  bell,  and 
gave  deal  of  trouble,  and  wasted  much  breath  of  the  big 
major-domo's  with  the  scolding  that  we  got.  It  was  only  to 
do  one  curious  little  thing  that  we  came  together  to  this 
place — or,  no,  it  was  all  about  a  secret  of  Sarah's,  which  is 
still  as  black  and  dark  to  me  as  the  middle  of  the  blackest 
and  darkest  night  that  ever  was  in  the  world — and  as  I 
nothing  knew  about  it,  except  that  there  was  no  harm  in  it 
to  any  body  or  any  thing,  and  that  Sarah  was  determined  to 
go,  and  that  I  could  not  let  her  go  by  herself;  as  also  for 
the  good  reason  that  she  told  me  she  had  the  best  right  of 
any  body  to  take  the  letter  and  to  hide  it  again,  seeing  that 
she  was  afraid  of  its  being  found  if  longer  in  that  room  she 
left  it,  which  was  the  room  where  she  had  hidden  it  before — 
why,  so  it  happened  that  I  —  no,  that  she — no,  no,  that  I — 
Ach  Gott !"  cried  Uncle  Joseph,  striking  his  forehead  in  de 
spair,  and  relieving  himself  by  an  invocation  in  his  own  lan 
guage.  "  I  am  lost  in  my  own  muddlement ;  and  where 
abouts  the  right  place  is,  and  how  I  am  to  get  myself  back 
into  it,  as  I  am  a  living  sinner,  is  more  than  I  know  !" 

"There  is  not  the  least  need  to  go  back  on  our  account," 
said  Rosamond,  forgetting  all  caution  and  self-restraint  in  her 
anxiety  to  restore  the  old  man's  confidence  and  composure. 


'294  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

"Pray  don't  try  to  repeat  your  explanations.  We  know  al 
ready — 

"  We  will  suppose,"  said  Leonard,  interposing  abruptly  be 
fore  his  wife  could  add  another  word,  "  that  we  know  already 
every  thing  you  can  desire  to  tell  us  in  relation  to  your 
niece's  secret,  and  to  your  motives  for  desiring  to  see  the 
house." 

"You  will  suppose  that!"  exclaimed  Uncle  Joseph,  look 
ing  greatly  relieved.  "  Ah  !  thank  you,  Sir,  and  you,  good 
Madam,  a  thousand  times  for  helping  me  out  of  my  own  mud- 
dlement  with  a  '  Suppose.'  I  am  all  over  confusion  from  my 
tops  to  my  toes ;  but  I  can  go  on  now,  I  think,  and  lose  my 
self  no  more.  So  !  Let  us  say  it  in  this  way :  I  and  Sarah, 
my  niece,  are  in  the  house  —  that  is  the  first  'Suppose.'  I 
and  Sarah,  my  niece,  are  out  of  the  house — that  is  the  second 
'Suppose.'  Good!  now  we  go  on  once  more.  On  my  way 
back  to  my  own  home  at  Truro,  I  am  frightened  for  Sarah, 
because  of  the  faint  she  fell  into  on  your  stairs  here,  and  be 
cause  of  a  look  in  her  face  that  it  makes  me  heavy  at  my 
heart  to  see.  Also,  I  am  sorry  for  her  sake,  because  she  has 
not  done  that  one  curious  little  thing  which  she  came  into 
the  house  to  do.  I  fret  about  these  same  matters,  but  I  con 
sole  myself  too  ;  and  my  comfort  is  that  Sarah  will  stop  with 
me  in  my  house  at  Truro,  and  that  I  shall  make  her  happy 
and  well  again,  as  soon  as  we  are  settled  in  our  life  together. 
Judge,  then,  Sir,  what  a  blow  falls  on  me  when  I  hear  that 
she  will  not  make  her  home  where  I  make  mine.  Judge  you, 
also,  good  Madam,  what  my  surprise  must  be,  when  I  ask  for 
her  reason,  and  she  tells  me  she  must  leave  Uncle  Joseph, 
because  she  is  afaid  of  being  found  out  by  you"  He  stop 
ped,  and  looking  anxiously  at  Rosamond's  face,  saw  it  sadden 
and  turn  away  from  him  after  he  had  spoken  his  last  words. 
"  Are  you  sorry,  Madam,  for  Sarah,  my  niece  ?  do  you  pity 
her  ?"  he  asked,  with  a  little  hesitation  and  trembling  in  his 
voice. 

"  I  pity  her  with  my  whole  heart,"  said  Rosamond,  warmly. 

"  And  with  my  whole  heart,  for  that  pity  I  thank  you  !"  re 
joined  Uncle  Joseph.  "  Ah,  Madam,  your  kindness  gives  me 
the  courage  to  go  on,  and  to  tell  you  that  we  parted  from 
each  other  on  the  day  of  our  getting  back  to  Truro  !  When 
she  came  to  see  me  this  time,  it  was  years  and  years,  long 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  295 

and  lonely  and  very  many,  since  we  two  had  met.  I  was 
afraid  that  many  more  would  pass  again,  and  I  tried  to  make 
her  stop  with  me  to  the  very  last.  But  she  had  still  the  same 
fear  to  drive  her  away — the  fear  of  being  found  and  put  to 
the  question  by  you.  So,  with  the  tears  in  her  eyes  (and  in 
mine),  and  the  grief  at  her  heart  (and  at  mine),  she  went 
away  to  hide  herself  in  the  empty  bigness  of  the  great  city, 
London,  which  swallows  up  all  people  and  all  things  that 
pour  into  it,  and  which  has  now  swallowed  up  Sarah,  my 
niece,  with  the  rest.  'My  child,  you  will  write  sometimes  to 
Uncle  Joseph,'  I  said,  and  she  answered  me, '  I  will  write  oft-  ( 
en.'  It  is  three  weeks  now  since  that  time,  and  here,  on  my 
knee,  are  four  letters  she  has  written  to  me.  I  shall  ask  your 
leave  to  put  them  down  open  before  you,  because  they  will 
help  me  to  get  on  further  yet  with  what  I  must  say,  and  be 
cause  I  see  in  your  face,  Madam,  that  you  are  indeed  sorry 
for  Sarah,  my  niece,  from  your  heart." 

He  untied  the  packet  of  letters,  opened  them,  kissed  them 
one  by  one,  and  put  them  down  in  a  row  on  the  table,  smooth 
ing  them  out  carefully  with  his  hand,  and  taking  great  pains 
to  arrange  them  all  in  a  perfectly  straight  line.  A  glance  at 
the  first  of  the  little  series  showed  Rosamond  that  the  hand 
writing  in  it  was  the  same  as  the  handwriting  in  the  body 
of  the  letter  which  had  been  found  in  the  Myrtle  Room. 

"  There  is  not  much  to  read,"  said  Uncle  Joseph.  "  But  if 
you  will  look  through  them  first,  Madam,  I  can  tell  you  after 
all  the  reason  for  showing  them  that  I  have." 

The  old  man  was  right.  There  was  very  little  to  read  in 
the  letters,  and  they  grew  progressively  shorter  as  they  be 
came  more  recent  in  date.  All  four  were  written  in  the  for 
mal,  conventionally  correct  style  of  a  person  taking  up  the 
pen  with  a  fear  of  making  mistakes  in  spelling  and  grammar,/ 
and  were  equally  destitute  of  any  personal  particulars  rela 
tive  to  the  writer;  all  four  anxiously  entreated  that  Uncle 
Joseph  would  not  be  uneasy,  inquired  after  his  health,  and 
expressed  gratitude  and  love  for  him  as  warmly  as  their 
timid  restraints  of  style  would  permit ;  all  four  contained 
these  two  questions  relating  to  Rosamond  —  First,  had  Mrs. 
Frankland  arrived  yet  at  Porthgenna  Tower?  Second,  if 
she  had  arrived,  what  had  Uncle  Joseph  heard  about  her? 
And,  finally,  all  four  gave  the  same  instructions  for  ad- 


29G  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

dressing  an  answer — "Please  direct  to  me, '  S.  J.,  Post-office, 
Smith  Street,  London' "  —  followed  by  the  same  apology, 
"Excuse  my  not  giving  my  address,  in  case  of  accidents;  for 
even  in  London  I  am  still  afraid  of  being  followed  and  found 
out.  I  send  every  morning  for  letters ;  so  I  am  sure  to  get 
your  answer." 

"  I  told  you,  Madam,"  said  the  old  man,  when  Rosamond 
raised  her  head  from  the  letters,  "  that  I  was  frightened  and 
sorry  for  Sarah  when  she  left  me.  Now  see,  if  you  please, 
why  I  got  more  frightened  and  more  sorry  yet,  when  I  have 
all  the  four  letters  that  she  writes  to  me.  They  begin  here, 
with  the  first,  at  my  left  hand;  and  they  grow  shorter,  and 
shorter,  and  shorter,  as  they  get  nearer  to  my  right,  till  the 
last  is  but  eight  little  lines.  Again,  see,  if  you  please.  The 
writing  of  the  first  letter,  here,  at  my  left  hand,  is  very  fine 
— I  mean  it  is  very  fine  to  me,  because  I  love  Sarah,  and  be 
cause  I  write  very  badly  myself;  but  it  is  not  so  good  in 
the  second  letter — it  shakes  a  little,  it  blots  a  little,  it  crooks 
itself  a  little  in  the  last  lines.  In  the  third  it  is  worse — more 
shake,  more  blot,  more  crook.  In  the  fourth,  where  there  is 
least  to  do,  there  is  still  more  shake,  still  more  blot,  still  more 
crook,  than  in  all  the  other  three  put  together.  I  see  this ;  I 
remember  that  she  was  weak  and  worn  and  weary  when  she 
left  me,  and  I  say  to  myself, '  She  is  ill,  though  she  will  not 
tell  it,  for  the  writing  betrays  her !' " 

Rosamond  looked  down  again  at  the  letters,  and  followed 
the  significant  changes  for  the  worse  in  the  handwriting,  line 
by  line,  as  the  old  man  pointed  them  out. 

"I  say  to  myself  that,"  he  continued;  "I  wait,  and  think 
a  little ;  and  I  hear  my  own  heart  whisper  to  me,  '  Go  you, 
Uncle  Joseph,  to  London,  and,  while  there  is  yet  time,  bring 
her  back  to  be  cured  and  comforted  and  made  happy  in  your 
own  home !'  After  that  I  wait,  and  think  a  little  again — not 
about  leaving  my  business ;  I  would  leave  it  forever  sooner 
than  Sarah  should  come  to  harm — but  about  what  I  am  to  do 
to  get  her  to  come  back.  That  thought  makes  me  look  at 
the  letters  again ;  the  letters  show  me  always  the  same  ques 
tions  about  Mistress  Frankland ;  I  see  it  plainly  as  my  own 
hand  before  me  that  I  shall  never  get  Sarah,  my  niece,  back, 
unless  I  can  make  easy  her  mind  about  those  questions  of 
Mistress  Frankland's  that  she  dreads  as  if  there  was  death  to 


THE    DEAD    SECKET.  297 

her  in  every  one  of  them.  I  see  it !  it  makes  my  pipe  go  out; 
it  drives  me  up  from  my  chair;  it  puts  my  hat  on  my  head; 
it  brings  me  here,  where  I  have  once  intruded  myself  already, 
and  where  I  have  no  right,  I  know,  to  intrude  myself  again ; 
it  makes  me  beg  and  pray  now,  of  your  compassion  for  my 
niece  and  of  your  goodness  for  me,  that  you  will  not  deny 
me  the  means  of  bringing  Sarah  back.  If  I  may  only  say  to 
her,  I  have  seen  Mistress  Frankland,  and  she  has  told  me  with 
her  own  lips  that  she  will  ask  none  of  those  questions  that 
you  fear  so  much  —  if  I  may  only  say  that,  Sarah  will  come 
back  with  me,  and  I  shall  thank  you  every  day  of  my  life  for 
making  me  a  happy  man  !" 

The  simple  eloquence  of  his  words,  the  innocent  earnest 
ness  of  his  manner,  touched  Rosamond  to  the  heart.  "  I  will 
do  any  thing,  I  will  promise  any  thing,"  she  answered  eager 
ly,  "  to  help  you  to  bring  her  back  !  If  she  will  only  let  me 
see  her,  I  promise  not  to  say  one  word  that  she  would  not 
wish  me  to  say ;  I  promise  not  to  ask  one  question — no,  not 
one — that  it  will  pain  her  to  answer.  "Oh,  what  comforting 
message  can  I  send  besides  ?  what  can  I  say —  ?"  She  stopped 
confusedly,  feeling  her  husband's  foot  touching  hers  again. 

"  Ah,  say  no  more !  say  no  more !"  cried  Uncle  Joseph, 
tying  up  his  little  packet  of  letters,  with  his  eyes  sparkling 
and  his  ruddy  face  all  in  a  glow.  "Enough  said  to  bring 
Sarah  back  !  enough  said  to  make  me  grateful  for  all  my  life ! 
Oh,  I  am  so  happy,  so  happy,  so  happy — my  skin  is  too  small 
to  hold  me !"  He  tossed  up  the  packet  of  letters  into  the 
air,  caught  it,  kissed  it,  and  put  it  back  again  in  his  pocket, 
all  in  an  instant. 

"  You  are  not  going  ?"  said  Rosamond.  "  Surely  you  are 
not  going  yet  ?" 

"  It  is  my  loss  to  go  away  from  here,  which  I  must  put  up 
with,  because  it  is  also  my  gain  to  get  sooner  to  Sarah,"  re 
plied  Uncle  Joseph.  "For  that  reason  only,  I  shall  ask  your 
pardon  if  I  take  my  leave  with  my  heart  full  of  thanks,  and 
go  my  ways  home  again." 

"  When  do  you  propose  to  start  for  London,  Mr.  Busch- 
mann  ?"  inquired  Leonard. 

"To-morrow,  in  the  morning  early,  Sir,"  replied  Uncle 
Joseph.  "  I  shall  finish  the  w^ork  that  I  must  do  to-night,  and 
shall  leave  the  rest  to  Samuel  (who  is  my  very  good  friend, 


298  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

and  my  shopman  too),  and  shall  then  go  to  Sarah  by  the  first 
coach." 

"  May  I  ask  for  your  niece's  address  in  London,  in  case  we 
wish  to  write  to  you  ?" 

"  She  gives  me  no  address,  Sir,  but  the  post-office ;  for  even 
at  the  great  distance  of  London,  the  same  fear  that  she  had 
all  the  way  from  this  house  still  sticks  to  her.  But  here  is 
the  place  where  I  shall  get  my  own  bed,"  continued  the  old 
man,  producing  a  small  shop  card.  "It  is  the  house  of  a 
countryman  of  my  own,  a  fine  baker  of  buns,  Sir,  and  a  very 
good  man  indeed." 

"  Have  you  thought  of  any  plan  for  finding  out  your  niece's 
address?"  inquired  Rosamond,  copying  the  direction  on  the 
card  while  she  spoke. 

"Ah,  yes — for  I  am  always  quick  at  making  my  plans," 
said  Uncle  Joseph.  "  I  shall  present  myself  to  the  master 
of  the  post,  and  to  him  I  shall  say  just  this  and  no  more — 
1  Good  -morning,  Sir.  I  am  the  man  who  writes  the  letters 
to  S.  J.  She  is  my  niece,  if  you  please ;  and  all  that  I  want 
to  know  is — Where  does  she  live  ?'  There  is  something  like 
a  plan,  I  think?  Aha  !"  He  spread  out  both  his  hands  in 
terrogatively,  and  looked  at  Mrs.  Frankland  with  a  self-satis 
fied  smile. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  said  Rosamond,  partly  amused,  partly  touch 
ed  by  his  simplicity,  "  that  the  people  at  the  post-office  are 
not  at  all  likely  to  be  trusted  with  the  address.  I  think  you 
would  do  better  to  take  a  letter  with  you,  directed  to  '  S.  J. ;' 
to  deliver  it  in  the  morning  when  letters  are  received  from 
the  country ;  to  wait  near  the  door,  and  then  to  follow  the 
person  who  is  sent  by  your  niece  (as  she  tells  you  herself)  to 
ask  for  letters  for  S.  J." 

"  You  think  that  is  better  ?"  said  Uncle  Joseph,  secretly 
convinced  that  his  own  idea  was  unquestionably  the  most 
ingenious  of  the  two.  "  Good !  The  least  little  word  that 
you  say  to  me,  Madam,  is  a  command  that  I  follow  with  all 
my  heart."  He  took  the  crumpled  felt  hat  out  of  his  pocket, 
and  advanced  to  say  farewell,  when  Mr.  Frankland  spoke  to 
him  again. 

"  If  you  find  your  niece  well,  and  willing  to  travel,"  said 
Leonard,  "  you  will  bring  her  back  to  Truro  at  once  ?  And 
you  will  let  us  know  when  you  are  both  at  home  again  ?" 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  299 

"  At  once,  Sir,"  said  Uncle  Joseph.  "  To  both  these  ques 
tions,  I  say,  At  once." 

"If  a  week  from  this  time  passes,"  continued  Leonard, 
"and  we  hear  nothing  from  you,  we  must  conclude,  then, 
either  that  some  unforeseen  obstacle  stands  in  the  way  of 
your  return,  or  that  your  fears  on  your  niece's  account  have 
been  but  too  well-founded,  and  that  she  is  not  able  to 
travel  ?" 

"  Yes,  Sir ;  so  let  it  be.  But  I  hope  you  will  hear  from  me 
before  the  week  is  out." 

"  Oh,  so  do  I !  most  earnestly,  most  anxiously  !"  said  Rosa 
mond.  "  You  remember  my  message  ?" 

"  I  have  got  it  here,  every  word  of  it,"  said  Uncle  Joseph, 
touching  his  heart.  He  raised  the  hand  which  Rosamond 
held  out  to  him  to  his  lips.  "  I  shall  try  to  thank  you  better 
when  I  have  come  back,"  he  said.  "  For  all  your  kindness  to 
me  and  to  my  niece,  God  bless  you  both,  and  keep  you  happy, 
till  we  meet  again."  With  these  words,  he  hastened  to  the 
door,  waved  his  hand  gayly,  with  the  old  crumpled  hat  in  it, 
and  went  out. 

"  Dear,  simple,  warm-hearted  old  man  !"  said  Rosamond, 
as  the  door  closed.  "I  wanted  to  tell  him  every  thing, 
Lenny.  Why  did  you  stop  me  ?" 

"  My  love,  it  is  that  very  simplicity  which  you  admire,  and 
which  I  admire,  too,  that  makes  me  cautious.  At  the  first 
sound  of  his  voice  I  felt  as  warmly  toward  him  as  you  do ; 
but  the  more  I  heard  him  talk  the  more  convinced  I  became 
that  it  would  be  rash  to  trust  him,  at  first,  for  fear  of  his  dis 
closing  too  abruptly  to  your  mother  that  we  know  her  secret. 
Our  chance  of  winning  her  confidence  and  obtaining  an  in 
terview  with  her  depends,  I  can  see,  upon  our  own  tact  in 
dealing  with  her  exaggerated  suspicions  and  her  nervous 
fears.  That  good  old  man,  with  the  best  and  kindest  inten 
tions  in  the  world,  might  ruin  every  thing.  He  will  have 
done  all  that  we  can  hope  for,  and  all  that  we  can  wish,  if  he 
only  succeeds  in  bringing  her  back  to  Truro." 

"  But  if  he  fails  ? — if  any  thing  happens  ? — if  she  is  really 
ill?" 

"  Let  us  wait  till  the  week  is  over,  Rosamond.  It  will  be 
time  enough  then  to  decide  what  we  shall  do  next." 


300  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 


CHAPTER  II. 

WAITING    AND    HOPING. 

THE  week  of  expectation  passed,  and  no  tidings  from  Uncle 
Joseph  reached  Porthgenna  Tower. 

On  the  eighth  day  Mr.  Frankland  sent  a  messenger  to 
Truro,  with  orders  to  find  out  the  cabinet-maker's  shop  kept 
by  Mr.Buschinann,  and  to  inquire  of  the  person  left  in  charge 
there  whether  he  had  received  any  news  from  his  master. 
The  messenger  returned  in  the  afternoon,  and  brought  word 
that  Mr.  Buschmann  had  written  one  short  note  to  his  shop 
man  since  his  departure,  announcing  that  he  had  arrived 
safely  towrard  nightfall  in  London ;  that  he  had  met  with  a 
hospitable  welcome  from  his  countryman,  the  German  baker; 
and  that  he  had  discovered  his  niece's  address,  but  had  been 
prevented  from  seeing  her  by  an  obstacle  which  he  hoped 
would  be  removed  at  his  next  visit.  Since  the  delivery  of 
that  note,  no  further  communication  had  been  received  from 
him,  and  nothing  therefore  was  known  of  the  period  at  wrhich 
he  might  be  expected  to  return. 

The  one  fragment  of  intelligence  thus  obtained  was  not  of 
a  nature  to  relieve  the  depression  of  spirits  which  the  doubt 
and  suspense  of  the  past  W7eek  had  produced  in  Mrs.  Frank- 
land.  Her  husband  endeavored  to  combat  the  oppression  of 
mind  from  which  she  was  suffering,  by  reminding  her  that 
the  ominous  silence  of  Uncle  Joseph  might  be  just  as  proba 
bly  occasioned  by  his  niece's  unwillingness  as  by  her  inability 
to  return  with  him  to  Truro.  Remembering  the  obstacle  at 
which  the  old  man's  letter  hinted,  and  taking  also  into  con 
sideration  her  excessive  sensitiveness  and  her  unreasoning 
timidity,  he  declared  it  to  be  quite  possible  that  Mrs.  Frank- 
land's  message,  instead  of  re- assuring  her,  might  only  in 
spire  her  with  fresh  apprehensions,  and  might  consequently 
strengthen  her  resolution  to  keep  herself  out  of  reach  of  all 
communications  from  Porthgenna  Tower. 

Rosamond  listened  patiently  while  this  view  of  the  case 
was  placed  before  her,  and  acknowledged  that  the  reasonable- 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  301 

ness  of  it  was  beyond  dispute ;  but  her  readiness  in  admitting 
that  her  husband  might  be  right  and  that  she  might  be  wrong 
was  accompanied  by  no  change  for  the  better  in  the  condition 
of  her  spirits.  The  interpretation  which,  the  old  man  had 
placed  upon  the  alteration  for  the  worse  in  Mrs.  Jazeph's 
handwriting  had  produced  a  vivid  impression  on  her  mind, 
which  had  been  strengthened  by  her  own  recollection  of  her 
mother's  pale,  worn  face  when  they  met  as  strangers  at  West 
Winston.  Reason,  therefore,  as  convincingly  as  he  might, 
Mr.Frankland  was  unable  to  shake  his  wife's  conviction  that 
the  obstacle  mentioned  in  Uncle  Joseph's  letter,  and  the  si 
lence  which  he  had  maintained  since,  were  referable  alike  to 
the  illness  of  his  niece. 

The  return  of  the  messenger  from  Truro  suggested,  besides 
this  topic  of  discussion,  another  question  of  much  greater  im 
portance.  After  having  waited  one  day  beyond  the  week 
that  had  been  appointed,  what  was  the  proper  course  of  action 
for  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frankland  now  to  adopt,  in  the  absence  of 
any  information  from  London  or  from  Truro  to  decide  their 
future  proceedings  ? 

Leonard's  first  idea  was  to  write  immediately  to  Uncle 
Joseph,  at  the  address  which  he  had  given  on  the  occasion  of 
his  visit  to  Portbgenna  Tower.  When  this  project  was  com 
municated  to  Rosamond,  she  opposed  it,  on  the  ground  that 
the  necessary  delay  before  the  answer  to  the  letter  could  ar 
rive  would  involve  a  serious  waste  of  time,  when  it  might, 
for  aught  they  knew  to  the  contrary,  be  of  the  last  impor 
tance  to  them  not  to  risk  the  loss  of  a  single  day.  If  illness 
prevented  Mrs.  Jazeph  from  traveling,  it  would  be  necessary 
to  see  her  at  once,  because  that  illness  might  increase.  If 
she  were  only  suspicious  of  their  motives,  it  was  equally  im 
portant  to  open  personal  communications  with  her  before 
she  could  find  an  opportunity  of  raising  some  fresh  obstacle, 
and  of  concealing  herself  again  in  some  place  of  refuge  which 
Uncle  Joseph  himself  might  not  be  able  to  trace. 

The  truth  of  these  conclusions  was  obvious,  but  Leonard 
hesitated  to  adopt  them,  because  they  involved  the  necessity 
of  a  journey  to  London.  If  he  went  there  without  his  wife, 
his  blindness  placed  him  at  the  mercy  of  strangers  and  serv 
ants,  in  conducting  investigations  of  the  most  delicate  and 
most  private  nature.  If  Rosamond  accompanied  him,  it 

O 


302  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

would  be  necessary  to  risk  all  kinds  of  delays  and  inconven 
iences  by  taking  the  child  with  them  on  a  long  and  weari 
some  journey  of  more  than  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles. 

Rosamond  met  both  these  difficulties  with  her  usual  direct 
ness  and  decision.  The  idea  of  her  husband  traveling  any 
where,  under  any  circumstances,  in  his  helpless,  dependent 
state,  without  having  her  to  attend  on  him,  she  dismissed  at 
once  as  too  preposterous  for  consideration.  The  second  ob 
jection,  of  subjecting  the  child  to  the  chances  and  fatigues 
of  a  long  journey,  she  met  by  proposing  that  they  should 
travel  to  Exeter  at  their  own  time  and  in  their  own  convey 
ance,  and  that  they  should  afterward  insure  plenty  of  com 
fort  and  plenty  of  room  by  taking  a  carriage  to  themselves 
when  they  reached  the  railroad  at  Exeter.  After  thus  smooth 
ing  away  the  difficulties  which  seemed  to  set  themselves  in 
opposition  to  the  journey,  she  again  reverted  to  the  absolute 
necessity  of  undertaking  it.  She  reminded  Leonard  of  the 
serious  interest  that  they  both  had  in  immediately  obtaining 
Mrs.  Jazeph's  testimony  to  the  genuineness  of  the  letter  which 
had  been  found  in  the  Myrtle  Room,  as  well  as  in  ascertain 
ing  all  the  details  of  the  extraordinary  fraud  which  had  been, 
practiced  by  Mrs.  Treverton  on  her  husband.  She  pleaded 
also  her  own  natural  anxiety  to  make  all  the  atonement  in 
her  power  for  the  pain  she  must  have  unconsciously  inflicted, 
in  the  bedroom  at  West  Winston,  on  the  person  of  all  others 
whose  failings  and  sorrows  she  was  most  bound  to  respect ; 
and  having  thus  stated  the  motives  which  urged  her  hus 
band  and  herself  to  lose  no  time  in  communicating  personally 
with  Mrs.  Jazeph,  she  again  drew  the  inevitable  conclusion 
that  there  was  no  alternative,  in  the  position  in  which  they 
were  now  placed,  but  to  start  forthwith  on  the  journey  to 
London. 

A  little  further  consideration  satisfied  Leonard  that  the 
emergency  was  of  such  a  nature  as  to  render  all  attempts  to 
meet  it  by  half-measures  impossible.  He  felt  that  his  own 
convictions  agreed  with  his  wife's ;  and  he  resolved  accord 
ingly  to  act  at  once,  without  further  indecision  or  further 
delay.  Before  the  evening  was  over,  the  servants  at  Porth- 
genna  were  amazed  by  receiving  directions  to  pack  the  trunks 
for  traveling,  and  to  order  horses  at  the  post-town  for  an 
early  hour  the  next  morning. 


THE    DEAD    SECKET.  303 

On  the  first  clay  of  the  journey,  the  travelers  started  as 
soon  as  the  carriage  was  ready,  rested  on  the  road  toward 
noon,  and  remained  for  the  night  at  Liskeard.  On  the  sec 
ond  day  they  arrived  at  Exeter,  and  slept  there.  On  the 
third  day  they  reached  London  by  the  railway,  between  six 
and  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening. 

When  they  were  comfortably  settled  for  the  night  at  their 
hotel,  and  when  an  hour's  rest  and  quiet  had  enabled  them 
to  recover  a  little  after  the  fatigues  of  the  journey,  Rosa 
mond  wrote  two  notes  under  her  husband's  direction.  The 
first  was  addressed  to  Mr.  Buschmann :  it  simply  informed 
him  of  their  arrival,  and  of  their  earnest  desire  to  see  him  at 
the  hotel  as  early  as  possible  the  next  morning,  and  it  con 
cluded  by  cautioning  him  to  wait  until  he  had  seen  them  be 
fore  he  announced  their  presence  in  London  to  his  niece. 

The  second  note  was  addressed  to  the  family  solicitor,  Mr. 
Nixon — the  same  gentleman  who,  more  than  a  year  since, 
had  written,  at  Mrs.  Frankland's  request,  the  letter  which  in 
formed  Andrew  Treverton  of  his  brother's  decease,  and  of 
the  circumstances  under  which  the  captain  had  died.  All 
that  Rosamond  now  wrote,  in  her  husband's  name  and  her 
own,  to  ask  of  Mr.  Nixon,  was  that  he  would  endeavor  to 
call  at  their  hotel  on  his  way  to  business  the  next  morning, 
to  give  his  opinion  on  a  private  matter  of  great  importance, 
which  had  obliged  them  to  undertake  the  journey  from 
Porthgenna  to  London.  This  note,  and  the  note  to  Uncle 
Joseph,  were  sent  to  their  respective  addresses  by  a  messen 
ger  on  the  evening  when  they  were  written. 

The  first  visitor  who  arrived  t^ie  next  morning  was  the  so 
licitor — a  clear-headed,  fluent,  polite  old  gentleman,  who  had 
known  Captain  Treverton  and  his  father  before  him.  He 
came  to  the  hotel  fully  expecting  to  be  consulted  on  some 
difficulties  connected  with  the  Porthgenna  estate,  which  the 
local  agent  was  perhaps  unable  to  settle,  and  which  might 
be  of  too  confused  and  intricate  a  nature  to  be  easily  ex 
pressed  in  writing.  When  he  heard  what  the  emergency 
really  was,  and  when  the  letter  that  had  been  found  in  the 
Myrtle  Room  was  placed  in  his  hands,  it  is  not  too  much  to 
say  that,  for  the  first  time  in  the  course  of  a  long  life  and  a 
varied  practice  among  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  clients, 
sheer  astonishment  utterly  paralyzed  Mr.  Nixon's  faculties, 


304  THE   DEAD   SECRET. 

and  bereft  him  for  some  moments  of  the  power  of  uttering  a 
single  word. 

When,  however,  Mr.  Frankland  proceeded  from  making  the 
disclosure  to  announcing  his  resolution  to  give  up  the  pur 
chase-money  of  Porthgenna  Tower,  if  the  genuineness  of  the 
letter  could  be  proved  to  his  own  satisfaction,  the  old  law 
yer  recovered  the  use  of  his  tongue  immediately,  and  pro 
tested  against  his  client's  intention  with  the  sincere  warmth 
of  a  man  who  thoroughly  understood  the  advantage  of  being 
rich,  and  who  knew  what  it  was  to  gain  and  to  lose  a  fortune 
of  forty  thousand  pounds. 

Leonard  listened  with  patient  attention  while  Mr.  Nixon 
argued  from  his  professional  point  of  view  against  regarding 
the  letter,  taken  by  itself,  as  a  genuine  document,  and  against 
accepting  Mrs.  Jazeph's  evidence,  taken  with  it,  as  decisive 
on  the  subject  of  Mrs.  Frank!  and's  real  parentage.  He  ex 
patiated  on  the  improbability  of  Mrs.  Treverton's  alleged 
fraud  upon  her  husband  having  been  committed  without  oth 
er  persons  besides  her  maid  and  herself  being  in  the  secret. 
He  declared  it  to  be  in  accordance  with  all  received  experi 
ence  of  human  nature  that  one  or  more  of  those  other  per 
sons  must  have  spoken  of  the  secret  either  from  malice  or 
from  want  of  caution,  and  that  the  consequent  exposure  of 
the  truth  must,  in  the  course  of  so  long  a  period  as  twenty- 
two  years,  have  come  to  the  knowledge  of  some  among  the 
many  people  in  the  West  of  England,  as  well  as  in  London, 
who  knew  the  Treverton  family  personally  or  by  reputation. 
From  this  objection  he  passed  to  another,  which  admitted 
the  possible  genuineness  of  the  letter  as  a  written  document ; 
but  which  pleaded  the  probability  of  its  having  been  pro 
duced  under  the  influence  of  some  mental  delusion  on  Mrs. 
Treverton's  part,  which  her  maid  might  have  had  an  interest 
in  humoring  at  the  time,  though  she  might  have  hesitated, 
after  her  mistress's  death,  at  risking  the  possible  conse 
quences  of  attempting  to  profit  by  the  imposture.  Having 
stated  this  theory,  as  one  which  not  only  explained  the  writ 
ing  of  the  letter,  but  the  hiding  of  it  also,  Mr.  Nixon  further 
observed,  in  reference  to  Mrs.  Jazeph,  that  any  evidence  she 
might  give  was  of  little  or  no  value  in  a  legal  point  of  view, 
from  the  difficulty — or,  he  might  say,  the  impossibility — of 
satisfactorily  identifying  the  infant  mentioned  in  the  letter 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  «'>05 

with  the  lady  whom  he  had  now  the  honor  of  addressing  as 
Mrs.  Frankland,  and  whom  no  unsubstantiated  document  in 
existence  should  induce  him  to  believe  to  be  any  other  than 
the  daughter  of  his  old  friend  and  client,  Captain  Treverton. 

Having  heard  the  lawyer's  objections  to  the  end,  Leonard 
admitted  their  ingenuity,  but  acknowledged  at  the  same 
time  that  they  had  produced  no  alteration  in  his  impression 
on  the  subject  of  the  letter,  or  in  his  convictions  as  to  the 
course  of  duty  which  he  felt  bound  to  follow.  He  would 
wait,  he  said,  for  Mrs.  Jazeph's  testimony  before  he  acted  de 
cisively  ;  but  if  that  testimony  were  of  such  a  nature,  and 
were  given  in  such  a  manner,  as  to  satisfy  him  that  his  wife 
had  no  moral  right  to  the  fortune  that  she  possessed,  he 
would  restore  it  at  once  to  the  person  who  had — Mr.  An 
drew  Treverton. 

Finding  that  no  fresh  arguments  or  suggestions  could 
shake  Mr.  Frankland's  resolution,  and  that  no  separate  ap 
peal  to  Rosamond  had  the  slightest  effect  in  stimulating  her 
to  use  her  influence  for  the  purpose  of  inducing  her  husband 
to  alter  his  determination  ;  and  feeling  convinced,  moreover, 
from  all  that  he  heard,  that  Mr.  Frankland  would,  if  he  was 
opposed  by  many  more  objections,  either  employ  another 
professional  adviser,  or  risk  committing  some  fatal  legal  er 
ror  by  acting  for  himself  in  the  matter  of  restoring  the  mon 
ey,  Mr.  Nixon  at  last  consented,  under  protest,  to  give  his 
client  what  help  he  needed  in  case  it  became  necessary  to 
hold  communication  with  Andrew  Treverton.  He  listened 
with  polite  resignation  to  Leonard's  brief  statement  of  the 
questions  that  he  intended  to  put  to  Mrs.  Jazeph ;  and  said, 
with  the  slightest  possible  dash  of  sarcasm,  when  it  came  to 
his  turn  to  speak,,  that  they  were  excellent  questions  in  a 
moral  point  of  view,  and  would  doubtless  produce  answers 
which  would  be  full  of  interest  of  the  most  romantic  kind. 
"  But,"  lie  added,  "  as  you  have  one  child  already,  Mr.  Frank- 
land,  and  as  you  may,  perhaps,  if  I  may  venture  on  suggest 
ing  such  a  thing,  have  more  in  the  course  of  years;  and  as 
those  children,  when  they  grow  up,  may  hear  of  the  loss  of 
their  mother's  fortune,  and  may  wish  to  know  why  it  was 
sacrificed,  I  should  recommend — resting  the  matter  on  fam 
ily  grounds  alone,  and  not  going  further  to  make  a  legal 
point  of  it  also — that  you  procure  from  Mrs.  Jazeph,  besides 


306  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

the  viva  voce  evidence  you  propose  to  extract  (against  the 
admissibility  of  which,  in  this  case,  I  again  protest),  a  writ 
ten  declaration,  which  you  may  leave  behind  you  at  your 
death,  and  which  may  justify  you  in  the  eyes  of  your  chil 
dren,  in  case  the  necessity  for  such  justification  should  arise 
at  some  future  period." 

This  advice  was  too  plainly  valuable  to  be  neglected.  At 
Leonard's  request,  Mr.  Nixon  drew  out  at  once  a  form  of 
declaration,  affirming  the  genuineness  of  the  letter  addressed 
by  the  late  Mrs.  Treverton  on  her  death-bed  to  her  husband, 
since  also  deceased,  and  bearing  witness  to  the  truth  of  the 
statements  therein  contained,  both  as  regarded  the  fraud 
practiced  on  Captain  Treverton  and  the  asserted  parentage 
of  the  child.  Telling  Mr.  Frankland  that  he  wrould  do  well 
to  have  Mrs.  Jazeph's  signature  to  this  document  attested 
by  the  names  of  two  competent  witnesses,  Mr.  Nixon  handed 
the  declaration  to  Rosamond  to  read  aloud  to  her  husband, 
and,  finding  that  no  objection  was  made  to  any  part  of  it, 
and  that  he  could  be  of  no  further  use  in  the  present  early 
stage  of  the  proceedings,  rose  to  take  his  leave.  Leonard  en 
gaged  to  communicate  with  him  again  in  the  course  of  the 
day,  if  necessary;  and  he  retired,  reiterating  his  protest  to 
the  last,  and  declaring  that  he  had  never  met  with  such  an 
extraordinary  case  and  such  a  self-willed  client  before  in  the 
whole  course  of  his  practice. 

Nearly  an  hour  elapsed  after  the  departure  of  the  lawyer 
before  any  second  visitor  was  announced.  At  the  expira 
tion  of  that  time,  the  welcome  sound  of  footsteps  was  heard 
approaching  the  door,  and  Uncle  Joseph  entered  the  room. 

Rosamond's  observation,  stimulated  by  anxiety,  detected 
a  change  in  his  look  and  manner  the  moment  he  appeared. 
His  face  was  harassed  and  fatigued,  and  his  gait,  as  he  ad 
vanced  into  the  room,  had  lost  the  briskness  and  activity 
which  so  quaintly  distinguished  it  when  she  saw  him,  for  the 
first  time,  at  Porthgenna  Tower.  He  tried  to  add  to  his 
first  words  of  greeting  an  apology  for  being  late;  but  Rosa 
mond  interrupted  him,  in  her  eagerness  to  ask  the  first  im 
portant  question. 

"  We  know  that  you  have  discovered  her  address,"  she 
said,  anxiously,  "but  wre  know  nothing  more.  Is  she  as  you 
feared  to  find  her  ?  Is  she  ill  ?" 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  307 

The  old  man  shook  his  head  sadly.  "  When  I  showed  you 
her  letter,"  he  said,  "what  did  I  tell  you?  She  is  so  ill, 
Madam,  that  not  even  the  message  your  kindness  gave  to 
me  will  do  her  any  good." 

Those  few  simple  words  struck  Rosamond's  heart  with  a 
strange  fear,  which  silenced  her  against  her  own  will  when 
she  tried  to  speak  again.  Uncle  Joseph  understood  the  anx 
ious  look  she  fixed  on  him,  and  the  quick  sign  she  made  to 
ward  the  chair  standing  nearest  to  the  sofa  on  which  she  and 
her  husband  were  sitting.  There  he  took  his  place,  and  there 
he  confided  to  them  all  that  he  had  to  tell. 

He  had  followed,  he  said,  the  advice  which  Rosamond  had 
given  to  him  at  Porthgenna,  by  taking  a  letter  addressed  to 
"  S.  J."  to  the  post-office  the  morning  after  his  arrival  in  Lon 
don.  The  messenger — a  maid-servant — had  called  to  inquire, 
as  was  anticipated,  and  had  left  the  post-office  with  his  let 
ter  in  her  hand.  He  had  followed  her  to  a  lodging-house  in 
a  street  near,  had  seen  her  let  herself  in  at  the  door,  and  had 
then  knocked  and  inquired  for  Mrs.  Jazcph.  The  door  was 
answered  by  an  old  woman,  who  looked  like  the  landlady ; 
and  the  reply  was  that  no  one  of  that  name  lived  there.  He 
had  then  explained  that  he  wished  to  see  the  person  for 
whom  letters  were  sent  to  the  neighboring  post-office,  ad 
dressed  to  "S.  J.;"  but  the  old  woman  had  answered,  in  the 
surliest  way,  that  they  had  nothing  to  do  with  anonymous 
people  or  their  friends  in  that  house,  and  had  closed  the  door 
in  his  face.  Upon  this  he  had  gone  back  to  his  friend,  the 
German  baker,  to  get  advice  ;  and  had  been  recommended  to 
return,  after  allowing  some  little  time  to  elapse,  to  ask  if  Jie 
could  see  the  servant  who  waited  on  the  lodgers,  to  describe 
his  niece's  appearance,  and  to  put  half  a  crown  into  the  girl's 
hand  to  help  her  to  understand  what  he  wanted.  He  had 
followed  these  directions,  and  had  discovered  that  his  niece 
was  lying  ill  in  the  house,  under  the  assumed  name  of  "  Mrs. 
James."  A  little  persuasion  (after  the  present  of  the  half- 
crown)  had  induced  the  girl  to  go  up  stairs  and  announce  his 
name.  After  that  there  were  no  more  obstacles  to  be  over 
come,  and  he  was  conducted  immediately  to  the  room  occu 
pied  by  his  niece. 

He  was  inexpressibly  shocked  and  startled  when  he  saw 
her  by  the  violent  nervous  agitation  which  she  manifested 


308  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

as  he  approached  her  bedside.  But  he  did  not  lose  heart 
and  hope  until  he  had  communicated  Mrs.  Frankland's  mes 
sage,  and  had  found  that  it  failed  altogether  in  producing 
the  re-assuring  effect  on  her  spirits  which  he  had  trusted 
and  believed  that  it  would  exercise.  Instead  of  soothing,  it 
seemed  to  excite  and  alarm  her  afresh.  Among  a  host  of 
minute  inquiries  about  Mrs.  Frankland's  looks,  about  her 
manner  toward  him,  about  the  exact  words  she  had  spoken, 
all  of  which  he  was  able  to  answer  more  or  less  to  her  satis 
faction,  she  had  addressed  two  questions  to  him,  to  which  he 
was  utterly  unable  to  reply.  The  first  of  the  questions  was, 
Whether  Mrs.  Frankland  had  said  anything  about  the  Secret? 
The  second  was,  Whether  she  had  spoken  any  chance  word 
to  lead  to  the  suspicion  that  she  had  found  out  the  situation 
of  the  Myrtle  Room  ? 

The  doctor  in  attendance  had  come  in,  the  old  man  added, 
while  he  was  still  sitting  by  his  niece's  bedside,  and  still  try 
ing  ineffectually  to  induce  -her  to  accept  the  friendly  and  re 
assuring  language  of  Mrs.  Frankland's  message.  After  mak 
ing  some  inquiries  and  talking  a  little  while  on  indifferent 
matters,  the  doctor  had  privately  taken  him  aside ;  had  in 
formed  him  that  the  pain  over  the  region  of  the  heart  and  the 
difficulty  in  breathing,  which  were  the  symptoms  of  which 
his  niece  complained,  were  more  serious  in  their  nature  than 
persons  uninstructed  in  medical  matters  might  be  disposed 
to  think;  and  had  begged  him  to  give  her  no  more  messages 
from  any  one,  unless  he  felt  perfectly  sure  beforehand  that 
they  would  have  the  effect  of  clearing  her  mind,  at  once  and 
forever,  from  the  secret  anxieties  that  now  harassed  it  — 
anxieties  which  he  might  rest  assured  were  aggravating  her 
malady  day  by  day,  and  rendering  all  the  medical  help  that 
could  be  given  of  little  or  no  avail. 

Upon  this,  after  sitting  longer  with  his  niece,  and  after 
holding  counsel  with  himself,  he  had  resolved  to  write  pri 
vately  to  Mrs.  Frankland  that  evening,  after  getting  back 
to  his  friend's  house.  The  letter  had  taken  him  longer  to 
compose  than  any  one  accustomed  to  writing  would  believe. 
At  last,  after  delays  in  making  a  fair  copy  from  many  rough 
drafts,  and  delays  in  leaving  his  task  to  attend  to  his  niece, 
he  had  completed  a  letter  narrating  what  had  happened 
since  his  arrival  in  London,  in  language  which  he  hoped 


THE   DEAD   SECRET.  309 

might  be  understood.  Judging  by  comparison  of  dates,  this 
letter  must  have  crossed  Mr.  and  Mrs.Frankland  on  the  road. 
It  contained  nothing  more  than  he  had  just  been  relating 
with  his  own  lips  —  except  that  it  also  communicated,  as  a 
proof  that  distance  had  not  diminished  the  fear  which  tor 
mented  his  niece's  mind,  the  explanation  she  had  given  to 
him  of  her  concealment  of  her  name,  and  of  her  choice  of  an 
abode  among  strangers,  when  she  had  friends  in  London  to 
whom  she  might  have  gone.  That  explanation  it  was  per 
haps  needless  to  have  lengthened  the  letter  by  repeating,  for 
it  only  involved  his  saying  over  again,  in  substance,  what  he 
had  already  said  in  speaking  of  the  motive  which  had  forced 
Sarah  to  part  from  him  at  Truro. 

With  last  words  such  as  those,  the  sad  and  simple  story  of 
the  old  man  came  to  an  end.  After  waiting  a  little  to  re 
cover  her  self-possession  and  to  steady  her  voice,  Rosamond 
touched  her  husband  to  draw  his  attention  to  herself,  and 
whispered  to  him — 

"I  may  say  all,  now,  that  I  wished  to  say  at  Porth- 
genna  ?" 

"All,"  he  answered.  "If  you  can  trust  yourself,  Rosa 
mond,  it  is  fittest  that  he  should  hear  it  from  your  lips." 

After  the  first  natural  burst  of  astonishment  was  over,  the 
effect  of  the  disclosure  of  the  Secret  on  Uncle  Joseph  exhib 
ited  the  most  striking  contrast  that  can  be  imagined  to  the 
effect  of  it  on  Mr.  Nixon.  No  shadow  of  doubt  darkened  the 
old  man's  face,  not  a  word  of  objection  dropped  from  his  lips. 
The  one  emotion  excited  in  him  was  simple,  unreflecting,  un 
alloyed  delight.  He  sprang  to  his  feet  with  all  his  natural 
activity,  his  eyes  sparkled  again  with  all  their  natural  bright 
ness;  one  moment  he  clapped  his  hands  like  a  child;  the 
next  he  caught  up  his  hat,  and  entreated  Rosamond  to  let 
him  lead  her  at  once  to  his  niece's  bedside.  "If  you  wrill 
only  tell  Sarah  what  you  have  just  told  me,"  he  cried,  hur 
rying  across  the  room  to  open  the  door,  "  you  will  give  her 
back  her  courage,  you  will  raise  her  up  from  her  bed,  you  will 
cure  her  before  the  day  is  out !" 

A  warning  word  from  Mr.  Frankland  stopped  him  on  a 
sudden,  and  brought  him  back,  silent  and  attentive,  to  the 
chair  that  he  had  left  the  moment  before. 

"  Think  a  little  of  what  the  doctor  told  yon,"  said  Leonard. 

02 


310  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

"  The  sudden  surprise  which  has  made  you  so  happy  might 
do  fatal  mischief  to  your  niece.  Before  we  take  the  responsi 
bility  of  speaking  to  her  on  a  subject  which  is  sure  to  agitate 
her  violently,  however  careful  we  may  be  in  introducing  it, 
we  ought  first,  I  think,  for  safety's  sake,  to  apply  to  the  doc 
tor  for  advice." 

Rosamond  warmly  seconded  her  husband's  suggestion, 
and,  with  her  characteristic  impatience  of  delay,  proposed 
that  they  should  find  out  the  medical  man  immediately. 
Uncle  Joseph  announced — a  little  unwillingly,  as  it  seemed 
— in  answer  to  her  inquiries,  that  he  knew  the  place  of  the 
doctor's  residence,  and  that  he  was  generally  to  be  found  at 
home  before  one  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  It  was  then  just 
half-past  twelve;  and  Rosamond,  with  her  husband's  approv 
al,  rang  the  bell  at  once  to  send  for  a  cab. 

She  was  about  to  leave  the  room  to  put  on  her  bonnet, 
after  giving  the  necessary  order,  when  the  old  man  stopped 
her  by  asking,  with  some  appearance  of  hesitation  and  con 
fusion,  if  it  was  considered  necessary  that  he  should  go  to 
the  doctor  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frankland  ;  adding,  before  the 
question  could  be  answered,  that  he  would  greatly  prefer,  if 
there  was  no  objection  to  it  on  their  parts,  being  left  to  wait 
at  the  hotel  to  receive  any  instructions  they  might  wish  to 
give  him  on  their  return.  Leonard  immediately  complied 
with  his  request,  without  inquiring  into  his  reasons  for  mak 
ing  it ;  but  Rosamond's  curiosity  was  aroused,  and  she  asked 
why  he  preferred  remaining  by  himself  at  the  hotel  to  going 
with  them  to  the  doctor. 

"  I  like  him  not,"  said  the  old  man.  "  When  he  speaks 
about  Sarah,  he  looks  and  talks  as  if  he  thought  she  would 
never  get  up  from  her  bed  again."  Answering  in  those  brief 
words,  he  walked  away  uneasily  to  the  window,  as  if  he  de 
sired  to  say  no  more. 

The  residence  of  the  doctor  was  at  some  little  distance, 
but  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frankland  arrived  there  before  one  o'clock, 
and  found  him  at  home.  He  was  a  young  man,  with  a  mild, 
grave  face,  and  a  quiet,  subdued  manner.  Daily  contact  with 
suffering  and  sorrow  had  perhaps  prematurely  steadied  and 
saddened  his  character.  Merely  introducing  her  husband 
and  herself  to  him,  as  persons  who  were  deeply  interested  in 
his  patient  at  the  lodging-house,  Rosamond  left  it  to  Leonard 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  311 

to  ask  the  first  questions  relating  to  the  condition  of  her 
mother's  health. 

The  doctor's  answer  was  ominously  prefaced  by  a  few 
polite  words,  which  were  evidently  intended  to  prepare  his 
hearers  for  a  less  hopeful  report  than  they  might  have  come 
there  expecting  to  receive.  Carefully  divesting  the  subject 
of  all  professional  technicalities,  he  told  them  that  his  patient 
was  undoubtedly  affected  with  serious  disease  of  the  heart. 
The  exact  nature  of  this  disease  he  candidly  acknowledged 
to  be  a  matter  of  doubt,  which  various  medical  men  might 
decide  in  various  ways.  According  to  the  opinion  which  he 
had  himself  formed  from  the  symptoms,  he  believed  that  the 
patient's  malady  was  connected  with  the  artery  which  con 
veys  blood  directly  from  the  heart  through  the  system.  Hav 
ing  found  her  singularly  unwilling  to  answer  questions  re 
lating  to  the  nature  of  her  past  life,  he  could  only  guess  that 
the  disease  was  of  long  standing ;  that  it  was  originally  pro 
duced  by  some  great  mental  shock,  followed  by  long-wear 
ing  anxiety  (of  which  her  face  showed  palpable  traces) ;  and 
that  it  had  been  seriously  aggravated  by  the  fatigue  of  a 
journey  to  London,  which  she  acknowledged  she  had  under 
taken  at  a  time  when  great  nervous  exhaustion  rendered  her 
totally  unfit  to  travel.  Speaking  according  to  this  view  of 
the  case,  it  was  his  painful  duty  to  tell  her  friends  that  any 
violent  emotion  would  unquestionably  put  her  life  in  danger. 
At  the  same  time,  if  the  mental  uneasiness  from  which  she 
was  now  suffering  could  be  removed,  and  if  she  could  be 
placed  in  a  quiet,  comfortable  country  home,  among  people 
who  would  be  unremittingly  careful  in  keeping  her  com 
posed,  and  in  suffering  her  to  want  for  nothing,  there  was 
reason  to  hope  that  the  progress  of  the  disease  might  be 
arrested,  and  that  her  life  might  be  spared  for  some  years  to 
come. 

Rosamond's  heart  bounded  at  the  picture  of  the  future 
which  her  fancy  drew  from  the  suggestions  that  lay  hidden 
in  the  doctor's  last  words.  "  She  can  command  every  ad 
vantage  you  have  mentioned,  and  more,  if  more  is  required !" 
she  interposed  eagerly,  before  her  husband  could  speak  again. 
"Oh,  Sir,  if  rest  among  kind  friends  is  all  that  her  poor  weary 
heart  wants,  thank  God  we  can  give  it !" 

"  We  can  give  it,"  said  Leonard,  continuing  the  sentence 


312  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

for  his  wife,  "  if  the  doctor  will  sanction  our  making  a  com 
munication  to  his  patient,  which  is  of  a  nature  to  relieve  her 
of  all  anxiety,  but  which,  it  is  necessary  to  add,  she  is  at 
present  quite  unprepared  to  receive." 

"  May  I  ask,"  said  the  doctor,  "  who  is  to  be  intrusted 
with  the  responsibility  of  making  the  communication  you 
mention  ?" 

"  There  are  two  persons  who  could  be  intrusted  with  it," 
answered  Leonard.  "  One  is  the  old  man  whom  you  have 
seen  by  your  patient's  bedside.  The  other  is  my  wife." 

"In  that  case,"  rejoined  the  doctor,  looking  at  Rosamond, 
"  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  this  lady  is  the  fittest  person  to 
undertake  the  duty."  He  paused,  and  reflected  for  a  mo 
ment  ;  then  added — "  May  I  inquire,  however,  before  I  vent 
ure  on  guiding  your  decision  one  way  or  the  other,  whether 
the  lady  is  as  familiarly  known  to  my  patient,  and  is  on  the 
same  intimate  terms  with  her,  as  the  old  man  ?" 

"  I  am  afraid  I  must  answer  No  to  both  those  questions," 
replied  Leonard.  "  And  I  ought,  perhaps,  to  tell  you,  at  the 
same  time,  that  your  patient  believes  my  wife  to  be  now  in 
Cornwall.  Her  first  appearance  in  the  sick-room  would,  I 
fear,  cause  great  surprise  to  the  sufferer,  and  possibly  some 
little  alarm  as  well." 

"Under  those  circumstances,"  said  the  doctor,  "the  risk 
of  trusting  the  old  man,  simple  as  he  is,  seems  to  be  infinitely 
the  least  risk  of  the  two — for  the  plain  reason  that  his  pres 
ence  can  cause  her  no  surprise.  However  unskillfully  he  may 
break  the  news,  he  will  have  the  great  advantage  over  this 
lady  of  not  appearing  unexpectedly  at  the  bedside.  If  the 
hazardous  experiment  must  be  tried — and  I  assume  that  it 
must,  from  what  you  have  said — you  have  no  choice,  I  think, 
but  to  trust  it,  with  proper  cautions  and  instructions,  to  the 
old  man  to  carry  out." 

After  arriving  at  that  conclusion,  there  was  no  more  to  be 
said  on  either  side.  The  interview  terminated,  and  Rosa 
mond  and  her  husband  hastened  back  to  give  Uncle  Joseph 
his  instructions  at  the  hotel. 

As  they  approached  the  door  of  their  sitting-room  they 
were  surprised  by  hearing  the  sound  of  music  inside.  On 
entering,  they  found  the  old  man  crouched  upon  a  stool, 
listening  to  a  shabby  little  musical  box  which  was  placed  on 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  313 

a  table  close  by  him,  and  which  was  playing  an  air  that  Ros 
amond  recognized  immediately  as  the  "  Batti,  Batti "  of 
Mozart. 

"  I  hope  you  will  pardon  me  for  making  music  to  keep  my 
self  company  while  you  were  away,"  said  Uncle  Joseph,  start 
ing  up  in  some  little  confusion,  and  touching  the  stop  of  the 
box.  "  This  is,  if  you  please,  of  all  my  friends  and  compan 
ions,  the  oldest  that  is  left.  The  divine  Mozart,  the  king  of 
all  the  composers  that  ever  lived,  gave  it  with  his  own  hand, 
Madam,  to  my  brother,  when  Max  was  a  boy  in  the  music 
school  at  Vienna.  Since  my  niece  left  me  in  Cornwall,  I 
have  not  had  the  heart  to  make  Mozart  sing  to  me  out  of 
this  little  bit  of  box  until  to-day.  Now  that  you  have  made 
me  happy  about  Sarah  again,  my  ears  ache  once  more  for  the 
tiny  ting-ting  that  has  always  the  same  friendly  sound  to  my 
heart,  travel  where  I  may.  But  enough  so !"  said  the  old 
man,  placing  the  box  in  the  leather  case  by  his  side,  which 
Rosamond  had  noticed  there  when  she  first  saw  him  at 
Porthgenna.  "I  shall  put  back  my  singing-bird  into  his 
cage,  and  shall  ask,  when  that  is  done,  if  you  will  be  pleased 
to  tell  me  what  it  is  that  the  doctor  has  said  ?" 

Rosamond  answered  his  request  by  relating  the  substance 
of  the  conversation  which  had  passed  between  her  husband 
and  the  doctor.  She  then,  with  many  preparatory  cautions, 
proceeded  to  instruct  the  old  man  how  to  disclose  the  dis 
covery  of  the  Secret  to  his  niece.  She  told  him  that  the  cir 
cumstances  in  connection  with  it  must  be  first  stated,  not  as 
events  that  had  really  happened,  but  as  events  that  might  be 
supposed  to  have  happened.  She  put  the  words  that  he 
would  have  to  speak  into  his  mouth,  choosing  the  fewest 
and  the  plainest  that  would  answer  the  purpose;  she  showed 
him  how  he  might  glide  almost  imperceptibly  from  referring 
to  the  discovery  as  a  thing  that  might  be  supposed,  to  re 
ferring  to  it  as  a  thing  that  had  really  happened ;  and  she 
impressed  upon  him,  as  most  important  of  all,  to  keep  per 
petually  before  his  niece's  mind  the  fact  that  the  discovery 
of  the  Secret  had  not  awakened  one  bitter  feeling  or  one  re 
sentful  thought  toward  her,  in  the  minds  of  either  of  the 
persons  who  had  been  so  deeply  interested  in  finding  it  out. 

Uncle  Joseph  listened  with  unwavering  attention  until 
Rosamond  had  done;  then  rose  from  his  seat,  fixed  his  eyes 


314  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

intently  on  her  face,  and  detected  an  expression  of  anxiety 
and  doubt  in  it  which  he  rightly  interpreted  as  referring  to 
himself. 

"May  I  make  you  sure,  before  I  go  away,  that  I  shall  for 
get  nothing  ?"  he  asked,  very  earnestly.  "  I  have  no  head  to 
invent,  it  is  true ;  but  I  have  something  in  me  that  can  re 
member,  and  the  more  especially  when  it  is  for  Sarah's  sake. 
If  you  please,  listen  now,  and  hear  if  I  can  say  to  you  over 
again  all  that  you  have  said  to  me  ?" 

Standing  before  Rosamond,  with  something  in  his  look  and 
manner  strangely  and  touchingly  suggestive  of  the  long-past 
days  of  his  childhood,  and  of  the  time  when  he  had  said  his 
earliest  lessons  at  his  mother's  knee,  he  now  repeated,  from 
first  to  last,  the  instructions  that  had  been  given  to  him,  with 
a  verbal  exactness,  with  an  easy  readiness  of  memory,  which, 
in  a  man  of  his  age,  was  nothing  less  than  ast'onishing. 
"  Have  I  kept  it  all  as  I  should  ?"  he  asked,  simply,  when  he 
had  come  to  an  end.  "And  may  I  go  my  ways  now,  and 
take  my  good  news  to  Sarah's  bedside  ?" 

It  was  still  necessary  to  detain  him,  while  Rosamond  and 
her  husband  consulted  together  on  the  best  and  safest  means 
of  following  up  the  avowal  that  the  Secret  was  discovered 
by  the  announcement  of  their  own  presence  in  London. 

After  some  consideration,  Leonard  asked  his  wife  to  pro 
duce  the  document  which  the  lawyer  had  drawn  out  that 
morning,  and  to  write  a  few  lines,  from  his  dictation,  on  the 
blank  side  of  the  paper,  requesting  Mrs.  Jazeph  to  read  the 
form  of  declaration,  and  to  affix  her  signature  to  it,  if  she  felt 
that  it  required  her,  in  every  particular,  to  affirm  nothing 
that  was  not  the  exact  truth.  When  tliis  had  been  done, 
and  when  the  leaf  on  which  Mrs.  Frankland  had  written  had 
been  folded  outward,  so  that  it  might  be  the  first  page  to 
catch  the  eye,  Leonard  directed  that  the  paper  should  be 
given  to  the  old  man,  and  explained  to  him  what  he  was  to 
do  with  it,  in  these  words : 

"When  you  have  broken  the  news  about  the  Secret  to 
your  niece,"  he  said,  "  and  when  you  have  allowed  her  full 
time  to  compose  herself,  if  she  asks  questions  about  my  wife 
and  myself  (as  I  believe  she  will),  hand  that  paper  to  her  for 
answer,  and  beg  her  to  read  it.  Whether  she  is  willing  to 
sign  it  or  not,  she  is  sure  to  inquire  how  you  came  by  it. 


THE    DEAD   SECKET.  0  315 

Tell  her  in  return  that  you  have  received  it  from  Mrs.  Frank- 
land — using  the  word  'received,'  so  that  she  may  believe  at, 
first  that  it  was  sent  to  you  from  Porthgenna  by  post.  If 
you  find  that  she  signs  the  declaration,  and  that  she  is  not 
much  agitated  after  doing  so,  then  tell  her  in  the  same 
gradual  way  in  which  you  tell  the  truth  about  the  discovery 
of  the  Secret,  that  my  wife  gave  the  paper  to  you  with  her 
own  hands,  and  that  she  is  now  in  London — " 

"  Waiting  and  longing  to  see  her,"  added  Rosamond. 
"You,  who  forget  nothing,  will  net,  I  am  sure,  forget  to  say 
that." 

The  little  compliment  to  his  powers  of  memory  made  Uncle 
Joseph  color  with  pleasure,  as  if  he  was  a  boy  again.  Prom 
ising  to  prove  worthy  of  the  trust  reposed  in  him,  and  en 
gaging  to  come  back  and  relieve  Mrs.  Frankland  of  all 
suspense  before  the  day  was  out,  he  took  his  leave,  and  went 
forth  hopefully  on  his  momentous  errand. 

Rosamond  watched  him  from  the  window,  threading  his 
way  in  and  out  among  the  throng  of  passengers  on  the  pave 
ment,  until  he  was  lost  to  view.  How  nimbly  the  light  little 
figure  sped  away  out  of  sight !  How  gayly  the  unclouded 
sunlight  poured  down  on  the  cheerful  bustle  in  the  street ! 
The  whole  being  of  the  great  city  basked  in  the  summer 
glory  of  the  day ;  all  its  mighty  pulses  beat  high,  and  all  its 
myriad  voices  whispered  of  hope  ! 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    STOEY    OF   THE    PAST. 

THE  afternoon  wore  away  and  the  evening  came,  and  still 
there  were  no  signs  of  Uncle  Joseph's  return. 

Toward  seven  o'clock,  Rosamond  was  summoned  by  the 
nurse,  who  reported  that  the  child  was  awake  and  fretful. 
After  soothing  and  quieting  him,  she  took  him  back  with  her 
to  the  sitting-room,  having  first,  with  her  usual  consideration 
for  the  comfort  of  any  servant  whom  she  employed,  sent  the 
nurse  down  stairs,  with  a  leisure  hour  at  her  own  disposal, 
after  the  duties  of  the  day.  "  I  don't  like  to  be  away  from 
you,  Lenny,  at  this  anxious  time,"  she  said,  when  she  rejoined 
her  husband ;  "  so  I  have  brought  the  child  in  here.  He  is 


316  THE    DEAD    SECKET. 

not  likely  to  be  troublesome  again,  and  the  having  him  to 
take  care  of  is  really  a  relief  to  me  in  our  present  state  of 
suspense." 

The  clock  on  the  mantel-piece  chimed  the  half-hour  past 
seven.  The  carriages  in  the  street  were  following  one  another 
more  and  more  rapidly,  filled  with  people  in  full  dress,  on 
their  way  to  dinner,  or  on  their  way  to  the  opera.  The  hawk 
ers  were  shouting  proclamations  of  news  in  the  neighboring 
square,  with  the  second  editions  of  the  evening  papers  under 
their  arms.  People  who  had  been  serving  behind  the  coun 
ter  all  day  were  standing  at  the  shop  door  to  get  a  breath 
of  fresh  air.  Working  men  were  trooping  homeward,  now 
singly,  now  together,  in  wreary,  shambling  gangs.  Idlers, 
who  had  come  out  after  dinner,  were  lighting  cigars  at  cor 
ners  of  streets,  and  looking  about  them,  uncertain  which  way 
they  should  turn  their  steps  next.  It  was  just  that  transi 
tional  period  of  the  evening  at  which  the  street-life  of  the 
day  is  almost  over,  and  the  street-life  of  the  night  has  not 
quite  begun — just  the  time,  also,  at  which  Rosamond,  after 
vainly  trying  to  find  relief  from  the  weariness  of  waiting  by 
looking  out  of  wrindow,  was  becoming  more  and  more  deep 
ly  absorbed  in  her  own  anxious  thoughts — when  her  atten 
tion  was  abruptly  recalled  to  events  in  the  little  world  about 
her  by  the  opening  of  the  room  door.  She  looked  up  im 
mediately  from  the  child  lying  asleep  on  her  lap,  and  saw 
that  Uncle  Joseph  had  returned  at  last. 

The  old  man  came  in  silently,  with  the  form  of  declaration 
which  he  had  taken  away  with  him,  by  Mr.  Frankland's  de 
sire,  open  in  his  hand.  As  he  approached  nearer  to  the  win 
dow,  Rosamond  noticed  that  his  face  looked  as  if  it  had 
gro\vn  strangely  older  during  the  few  hours  of  his  absence. 
He  came  close  up  to  her,  and  still  not  saying  a  word,  laid 
his  trembling  forefinger  low  down  on  the  open  paper,  and 
held  it  before  her  so  that  she  could  look  at  the  place  thus  in 
dicated  without  rising  from  her  chair. 

His  silence  and  the  change  in  his  face  struck  her  with  a 
sudden  dread  which  made  her  hesitate  before  she  spoke  to 
him.  "Have  you  told  her  all?"  she  asked,  after  a  moment's 
delay,  putting  the  question  in  low,  whispering  tones,  and  not 
heeding  the  paper. 

"This  answers  that  I  have,"  he  said,  still  pointing  to  the 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  317 

declaration.  "  See  !  here  is  the  name,  signed  in  the  place 
that  was  left  for  it — signed  by  her  own  hand." 

Rosamond  glanced  at  the  paper.  There  indeed  was  the 
signature,  "  S.  Jazeph ;"  and  underneath  it  were  added,  in 
faintly  traced  lines  of  parenthesis,  these  explanatory  words — 
"  Formerly,  Sarah  Leeson." 

"Why  don't  you  speak?"  exclaimed  Rosamond,  looking  at 
him  in  growing  alarm.  "Why  don't  you  tell  us  how  she 
bore  it  ?" 

"  Ah  !  don't  ask  me,  don't  ask  me  !"  he  answered,  shrink 
ing  back  from  her  hand,  as  she  tried  in  her  eagerness  to  lay 
it  on  his  arm.  "I  forgot  nothing.  I  said  the  words  as  you 
taught  me  to  say  them — I  went  the  roundabout  way  to  the 
truth  with  my  tongue ;  but  my  face  took  the  short  cut,  and 
got  to  the  end  first.  Pray,  of  your  goodness  to  me,  ask  noth 
ing  about  it !  Be  satisfied,  if  you  please,  with  knowing  that 
she  is  better  and  quieter  and  happier  now.  The  bad  is  over 
and  past,  and  the  good  is  all  to  come.  If  I  tell  you  how  she 
looked,  if  I  tell  you  what  she  said,  if  I  tell  you  all  that  hap 
pened  when  first  she  knew  the  truth,  the  fright  will  catch  me 
round  the  heart  again,  and  all  the  sobbing  and  crying  that  I 
have  swallowed  down  will  rise  once  more  and  choke  me.  I 
must  keep  my  head  clear  and  my  eyes  dry — or  how  shall  I 
say  to  you  all  the  things  that  I  have  promised  Sarah,  as  I 
love  my  own  soul  and  hers,  to  tell,  before  I  lay  myself  down 
to  rest  to-night  ?"  He  stopped,  took  out  a  coarse  little  cot 
ton  pocket-handkerchief,  with  a  flaring  white  pattern  on  a 
dull  blue  ground,  and  dried  a  few  tears  that  had  risen  in  his 
eyes  while  he  was  speaking.  "  My  life  has  had  so  much  hap 
piness  in  it,"  he  said,  self-reproachfully,  looking  at  Rosa 
mond,  "that  my  courage,  when  it  is  wanted  for  the  time  of 
trouble,  is  not  easy  to  find.  And  yet,  I  am  German  !  all 
my  nation  are  philosophers ! — why  is  it  that  I  alone  am  as  soft 
in  my  brains,  and  as  weak  in  my  heart,  as  the  pretty  little 
baby  there,  that  is  lying  asleep  in  your  lap  ?" 

"  Don't  speak  again ;  don't  tell  us  any  thing  till  you  feel 
more  composed,"  said  Rosamond.  "We  are  relieved  from 
our  worst  suspense  now  that  we  know  you  have  left  her 
quieter  and  better.  I  will  ask  no  more  questions ;  at  least," 
she  added,  after  a  pause,  "  I  will  only  ask  one."  She  stopped ; 
and  her  eyes  wandered  inquiringly  toward  Leonard.  He  had 


318  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

hitherto  been  listening  with  silent  interest  to  all  that  had 
passed ;  but  he  now  interposed  gently,  and  advised  his  "wife 
to  wait  a  little  before  she  ventured  on  saying  any  thing 
more. 

"It  is  such  an  easy  question  to  answer,"  pleaded  Rosa 
mond.  "  I  only  wanted  to  hear  whether  she  has  got  my 
message — whether  she  knows  that  I  am  waiting  and  longing 
to  see  her,  if  she  will  but  let  me  come  ?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  said  the  old  man,  nodding  to  Rosamond  with 
an  air  of  relief.  "  That  question  is  easy ;  easier  even  than 
you  think,  for  it  brings  me  straight  to  the  beginning  of  all 
that  I  have  got  to  say." 

He  had  been  hitherto  walking  restlessly  about  the  room ; 
sitting  down  one  moment,  and  getting  up  the  next.  He  now 
placed  a  chair  for  himself  midway  between  Rosamond — who 
was  sitting,  with  the  child,  near  the  window — -and  her  hus 
band,  who  occupied  the  sofa  at  the  lower  end  of  the  room. 
In  this  position,  which  enabled  him  to  address  himself  alter 
nately  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frankland  without  difficulty,  he  soon 
recovered  composure  enough  to  open  his  heart  unreservedly 
to  the  interest  of  his  subject. 

"  When  the  worst  was  over  and  past,"  he  said,  addressing 
Rosamond — "  when  she  could  listen  and  when  I  could  speak, 
the  first  words  of  comfort  that  I  said  to  her  were  the  words 
of  your  message.  Straight  she  looked  at  me,  with  doubting, 
fearing  eyes.  '  Was  her  husband  there  to  hear  her?'  she  says. 
'  Did  he  look  angry  ?  did  he  look  sorry  ?  did  he  change  ever 
so  little,  when  you  got  that  message  from  her  ?'  And  I  said, 
'No;  no  change,  no  anger,  no  sorrow — nothing  like  it.'  And 
she  said  again:  'Has  it  made  between  them  no  misery?  lias 
it  nothing  wrenched  away  of  all  the  love  and  all  the  happi 
ness  that  binds  them  the  one  to  the  other?'  And  once  more 
I  answer  to  that,  '  No  !  no  misery,  no  wrench.  See  now  !  I 
shall  go  my  ways  at  once  to  the  good  wife,  and  fetch  her 
here  to  answer  for  the  good  husband  with  her  own  tongue.' 
While  I  speak  those  words  there  flies  out  over  all  her  face  a 
look — no,  not  a  look — a  light,  like  a  sun-flash.  While  I  can 
count  one,  it  lasts ;  before  I  can  count  two,  it  is  gone ;  the 
face  is  all  dark  again ;  it  is  turned  away  from  me  on  the  pil 
low,  and  I  see  the  hand  that  is  outside  the  bed  begin  to 
crumple  up  the  sheet.  '  I  shall  go  my  ways,  then,  and  fetch 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  319 

the  good  wife,'  I  say  again.  And  she  says,  '  No,  not  yet.  I 
must  not  see  her,  I  dare  not  see  her  till  she  knows — ;'  and 
there  she  stops,  and  the  hand  crumples  up  the  sheet  again, 
and  softly,  softly,  I  say  to  her,  'Knows  what?'  and  she  an 
swers  me,  '  What  I,  her  mother,  can  not  tell  her  to  her  face, 
for  shame.'  And  I  say,  '  So,  so,  my  child  !  tell  it  not,  then — 
tell  it  not  at  all.'  She  shakes  her  head  at  me,  and  wrings 
her  two  hands  together,  like  this,  on  the  bed-cover.  'I  must 
tell  it,'  she  says.  '  I  must  rid  my  heart  of  all  that  has  been 
gnawing,  gnawing,  gnawing  at  it,  or  how  shall  I  feel  the 
blessing  that  the  seeing  her  will  bring  to  me,  if  my  con 
science  is  only  clear?'  Then  she  stops  a  little,  and  lifts  up 
her  two  hands,  so,  and  cries  out  loud,  '  Oh,  will  God's  mercy 
show  me  no  way  of  telling  it  that  will  spare  me  before  my 
child  !'  And  I  say,  '  Hush,  then  !  there  is  a  way.  Tell  it  to 
Uncle  Joseph,  who  is  the  same  as  father  to  you !  Tell  it  to 
Uncle  Joseph,  whose  little  son  died  in  your  arms;  whose  tears 
your  hand  wiped  away,  in  the  grief  time  long  ago.  Tell  it, 
my  child,  to  me ;  and  ./shall  take  the  risk,  and  the  shame  (if 
there  is  shame),  of  telling  it  again.  I,  with  nothing  to  speak 
for  me  but  my  white  hair;  I,  with  nothing  to  help  me  but 
my  heart  that  means  no  harm — I  shall  go  to  that  good  and 
true  woman,  with  the  burden  of  her  mother's  grief  to  lay  be 
fore  her;  and,  in  my  soul  of  souls  I  believe  it,  she  will  not 
turn  away !' " 

He  paused,  and  looked  at  Rosamond.  Her  head  was  bent 
down  over  her  child;  her  tears  were  dropping  slowly,  one  by 
one,  on  the  bosom  of  his  little  white  dress.  Waiting  a  mo 
ment  to  collect  herself  before  she  spoke,  she  held  out  her 
hand  to  the  old  man,  and  firmly  and  gratefully  met  the  look 
he  fixed  on  her.  "Oh,  go  on,  go  on!"  she  said.  "Let  me 
prove  to  you  that  your  generous  confidence  in  me  is  not  mis 
placed." 

"  I  knew  it  was  not,  from  the  first,  as  surely  as  I  know  it 
now !"  said  Uncle  Joseph.  "And  Sarah,  when  I  had  spoken 
to  her,  she  knew  it  too.  She  was  silent  for  a  little  ;  she  cried 
for  a  little ;  she  leaned  over  from  the  pillow  and  kissed  me 
here,  on  my  cheek,  as  I  sat  by  the  bedside ;  and  then  she 
looked  back,  back,  back,  in  her  mind,  to  the  Long  Ago,  and 
very  quietly,  very  slowly,  with  her  eyes  looking  into  my 
eyes,  and  her  hand  resting  so  in  mine,  she  spoke  the  words  to 


320  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

me  that  I  must  now  speak  again  to  you,  who  sit  here  to-day 
as  her  judge,  before  you  go  to  her  to-morrow  as  her  child." 

"  Not  as  her  judge  !"  said  Rosamond.  "  I  can  not,  I  must 
not  hear  you  say  that." 

"  I  speak  her  words,  not  mine,"  rejoined  the  old  man,  grave 
ly.  "  Wait  before  you  bid  me  change  them  for  others — wait 
till  you  know  the  end." 

He  drew  his  chair  a  little  nearer  to  Rosamond,  paused  for 
a  minute  or  two  to  arrange  his  recollections,  and  to  separate 
them  one  from  the  other;  then  resumed. 

"As  Sarah  began  with  me,"  he  said,  "so  I,  for  my  part, 
must  begin  also — which  means  to  say,  that  I  go  down  now 
through  the  years  that  are  past,  to  the  time  when  my  niece 
went  out  to  her  first  service.  You  know  that  the  sea-captain, 
the  brave  and  good  man  Treverton,  took  for  his  wife  an  art 
ist  on  the  stage — what  they  call  play-actress  here  ?  A  grand, 
big  woman,  and  a  handsome ;  with  a  life  and  a  spirit  and  a 
will  in  her  that  is  not  often  seen ;  a  woman  of  the  sort  who 
can  say,  We  will  do  this  thing,  or  that  thing — and  do  it  in 
the  spite  and  face  of  all  the  scruples,  all  the  obstacles,  all  the 
oppositions  in  the  world.  To  this  lady  there  comes  for  maid 
to  wait  upon  her,  Sarah,  my  niece — a  young  girl  then,  pretty 
and  kind  and  gentle,  and  very,  very  shy.  Out  of  many  oth 
ers  who  want  the  place,  and  who  are  bolder  and  bigger  and 
quicker  girls,  Mistress  Treverton,  nevertheless,  picks  Sarah. 
This  is  strange,  but  it  is  stranger  yet  that  Sarah,  on  her  part, 
when  she  comes  out  of  her  first  fears  and  doubts,  and  pains 
of  shyness  about  herself,  gets  to  be  fond  with  all  her  heart 
of  that  grand  and  handsome  mistress,  who  has  a  life  and  a 
spirit  and  a  will  of  the  sort  that  is  not  often  seen.  This  is 
strange  to  say,  but  it  is  also,  as  I  know  from  Sarah's  own 
lips,  every  word  of  it  true." 

"True  beyond  a  doubt,"  said  Leonard.  "Most  strong  at 
tachments  are  formed  between  people  who  are  unlike  each 
other." 

"  So  the  life  they  led  in  that  ancient  house  of  Porthgenna 
began  happily  for  them  all,"  continued  the  old  man.  "The 
love  that  the  mistress  had  for  her  husband  was  so  full  in  her 
heart  that  it  overflowed  in  kindness  to  every  body  who  was 
about  her,  and  to  Sarah,  her  maid,  before  all  the  rest.  She 
would  have  nobody  but  Sarah  to  read  to  her,  to  work  for 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  321 

her,  to  dress  her  in  the  morning  and  the  evening,  and  to  un 
dress  her  at  night.  She  was  as  familiar  as  a  sister  might 
have  been  with  Sarah,  when  they  two  were  alone,  in  the  long 
days  of  rain.  It  was  the  game  of  her  idle  time — the  laugh 
that  she  liked  most — to  astonish  the  poor  country  maid,  who 
had  never  so  much  as  seen  what  a  theatre's  inside  was  like, 
by  dressing  in  fine  clothes,  and  painting  her  face,  and  speak 
ing  and  doing  all  that  she  had  done  on  the  theatre-scene  in 
the  days  that  were  before  her  marriage.  The  more  she  puz 
zled  Sarah  with  these  jokes  and  pranks  of  masquerade,  the 
better  she  Avas  always  pleased.  For  a  year  this  easy,  happy 
life  went  on  in  the  ancient  house — happy  for  all  the  servants 
— happier  still  for  the  master  and  mistress,  but  for  the  want 
of  one  thing  to  make  the  whole  complete,  one  little  blessing 
that  was  always  hoped  for,  and  that  never  came — the  same, 
if  you  please,  as  the  blessing  in  the  long  white  frock,  with 
the  plump,  delicate  face  and  the  tiny  arms,  that  I  see  before 
me  now." 

He  paused,  to  point  the  allusion  by  nodding  and  smiling 
at  the  child  in  Rosamond's  lap ;  then  resumed. 

"As  the  new  year  gets  on,"  he  said,  "Sarah  sees  in  the 
mistress  a  change.  The  good  sea-captain  is  a  man  who  loves 
children,  and  is  fond  of  getting  to  the  house  all  the  little 
boys  and  girls  of  his  friends  round  about.  He  plays  with 
them,  he  kisses  them,  he  makes  them  presents — he  is  the  best 
friend  the  little  boys  and  girls  have  ever  had.  The  mistress, 
who  should  be  their  best  friend  too,  looks  on  and  says  noth 
ing — looks  on,  red  sometimes,  and  sometimes  pale ;  goes  away 
into  her  room  where  Sarah  is  at  work  for  her,  and  walks 
about  and  finds  fault ;  and  one  day  lets  the  evil  temper  fly 
out  of  her  at  her  tongue,  and  says, '  Why  have  I  got  no  child 
for  my  husband  to  be  fond  of?  Why  must  he  kiss  and  play 
always  with  the  children  of  other  women  ?  They  take  his 
love  away  for  something  that  is  not  mine.  I  hate  those 
children  and  their  mothers  too !'  It  is  her  passion  that 
speaks  then,  but  it  speaks  what  is  near  the  truth  for  all  that. 
She  will  not  make  friends  with  any  of  those  mothers;  the 
ladies  she  is  familiar-fond  with  are  the  ladies  who  have  no 
children,  or  the  ladies  whose  families  are  all  upgrown.  You 
think  that  was  wrong  of  the  mistress  ?" 

He  put  the  question  to  Rosamond,  who  was  toying  thought- 


322  THE    DEAD    SECKET. 

fully  with  one  of  the  baby's  hands  which  was  resting  in  hers. 
"I  think  Mrs.  Treverton  was  very  much  to  be  pitied,"  she 
answered,  gently  lifting  the  child's  hand  to  her  lips. 

"  Then  I,  for  ray  part,  think  so  too,"  said  Uncle  Joseph. 
"  To  be  pitied  ? — yes  !  To  be  more  pitied  some  months  after, 
when  there  is  still  no  child  and  no  hope  of  a  child,  and  the 
good  sea-captain  says,  one  day,  '  I  rust  here,  I  get  old  with 
much  idleness ;  I  want  to  be  on  the  sea  again.  I  shall  ask 
for  a  ship.'  And  he  asks  for  a  ship,  and  they  give  it  him; 
and  he  goes  away  on  his  cruises — with  much  kissing  and' 
fondness  at  parting  from  his  wife — but  still  he  goes  away. 
And  when  he  is  gone,  the  mistress  comes  in  again  where 
Sarah  is  at  work  for  her  on  a  fine  new  gown,  and  snatches  it 
away,  and  casts  it  down  on  the  floor,  and  throws  after  it  all 
the  fine  jewels  she  has  got  on  her  table,  and  stamps  and  cries 
with  the  misery  and  the  passion  that  is  in  her.  '  I  would 
give  all  those  fine  things,  and  go  in  rags  for  the  rest  of  my 
life,  to  have  a  child  !'  she  says.  '  I  am  losing  my  husband's 
love :  he  would  never  have  gone  away  from  me  if  I  had 
brought  him  a  child  !'  Then  she  looks  in  the  glass,  and  says 
between  her  teeth, 'Yes!  yes!  I  am  a  fine  woman,  with  a 
fine  figure,  and  I  would  change  places  with  the  ugliest,  crook- 
edest  wretch  in  all  creation,  if  I  could  only  have  a  child !' 
And  then  she  tells  Sarah  that  the  Captain's  brother  spoke 
the  vilest  of  all  vile  words  of  her,  when  she  was  married,  be 
cause  she  was  an  artist  on  the  stage ;  and  she  says, ' If  I  have 
no  child,  who  but  he — the  rascal-monster  that  I  wish  I  could 
kill ! — who  but  he  will  come  to  possess  all  that  the  Captain 
has  got  ?'  And  then  she  cries  again,  and  says,  *  I  am  losing 
his  love — ah,  I  know  it,  I  know  it ! — I  am  losing  his  love!' 
Nothing  that  Sarah  can  say  will  alter  her  thoughts  about 
that.  And  the  months  go  on,  and  the  sea-captain  comes 
back,  and  still  there  is  always  the  same  secret  grief  growing 
and  growing  in  the  mistress's  heart — growing  and  growing 
till  it  is  now  the  third  year  since  the  marriage,  and  there  is  no 
hope  yet  of  a  child ;  and  once  more  the  sea-captain  gets  tired 
on  the  land,  and  goes  off  again  for  his  cruises — long  cruises, 
this  time ;  away,  away,  away,  at  the  other  end  of  the  world." 

Here  Uncle  Joseph  paused  once  more,  apparently  hesitating 
a  little  about  how  he  should  go  on  with  the  narrative.  His 
inind  seemed  to  be  soon  relieved  of  its  doubts,  but  his  face 


T1IE    DEAD    SECRET.  323 

saddened,  and  his  tones  sank  lower,  when  he  addressed  Ros 
amond  again. 

"  I  must,  if  you  please,  go  away  from  the  mistress  now," 
he  said,  "  and  get  back  to  Sarah,  my  niece,  and  say  one  word 
also  of  a  mining  man,  with  the  Cornish  name  of  Polwheal. 
This  was  a  young  man  that  worked  well  and  got  good 
wage,  and  kept  a  good  character.  He  lived  with  his  mother 
in  the  little  village  that  is  near  the  ancient  house ;  and, 
seeing  Sarah  from  time  to  time,  took  much  fancy  to  her,  and 
she  to  him.  So  the  end  came  that  the  marriage-promise  was 
between  them  given  and  taken ;  as  it  happened,  about  the 
time  when  the  sea-captain  was  back  after  his  first  cruises, 
and  just  when  he  was  thinking  of  going  away  in  a  ship 
again.  Against  the  marriage-promise  nor  he  nor  the  lady 
his  wife  had  a  word  to  object,  for  the  miner,  Polwheal,  had 
good  wage  and  kept  a  good  character.  Only  the  mistress 
said  that  the  loss  of  Sarah  would  be  sad  to  her — very  sad ; 
and  Sarah  answered  that  there  was  yet  no  hurry  to  part. 
So  the  weeks  go  on,  and  the  sea-captain  sails  away  again  for 
his  long  cruises ;  and  about  the  same  time  also  the  mistress 
finds  out  that  Sarah  frets,  and  looks  not  like  herself,  and  that 
the  miner,  Polwheal,  he  lurks  here  and  lurks  there,  round 
about  the  house ;  and  she  says  to  herself,  *  So  !  so  !  Am  I 
standing  too  much  in  the  way  of  this  marriage  ?  For  Sarah's 
sake,  that  shall  not  be  !'  And  she  calls  for  them  both  one 
evening,  and  talks  to  them  kindly,  and  sends  away  to  put 
up  the  banns  next  morning  the  young  man  Polwheal.  That 
night,  it  is  his  turn  to  go  down  into  the  Porthgenna  mine, 
and  work  after  the  hours  of  the  day.  With  his  heart  all 
light,  down  into  that  dark  he  goes.  When  he  rises  to  the 
world  again,  it  is  the  dead  body  of  him  that  is  drawn  up — 
the  dead  body,  with  all  the  young  life,  by  the  fall  of  a  rock, 
crushed  out  in  a  moment.  The  news  flies  here ;  the  news 
flies  there.  With  no  break,  with  no  warning,  with  no  com 
fort  near,  it  comes  on  a  sudden  to  Sarah,  my  niece.  When 
to  her  sweet-heart  that  evening  she  had  said  good-by,  she 
was  a  young,  pretty  girl ;  when,  six  little  weeks  after,  she, 
from  the  sick-bed  where  the  shock  threw  her,  got  up,  all  her 
youth  was  gone,  all  her  hair  was  gray,  and  in  her  eyes  the 
fright-look  was  fixed  that  has  never  left  them  since." 

The  simple  words  drew  the  picture  of  the  miner's  death, 


324  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

and  of  all  that  followed  it,  with  a  startling  distinctness — 
with  a  fearful  reality.  Rosamond  shuddered,  and  looked  at 
her  husband.  "  Oh,  Lenny  !"  she  murmured,  "  the  first  news 
of  your  blindness  was  a  sore  trial  to  me — but  what  was  it  to 
this !" 

"  Pity  her !"  said  the  old  man.  "  Pity  her  for  what  she 
suffered  then  !  Pity  her  for  what  came  after,  that  was  worse ! 
Yet  five,  six,  seven  weeks  pass,  after  the  death  of  the  mining 
man,  and  Sarah  in  the  body  suffers  less,  but  in  the  mind  suf 
fers  more.  The  mistress,  who  is  kind  and  good  to  her  as 
any  sister  could  be,  finds  out,  little  by  little,  something  in 
her  face  which  is  not  the  pain-look,  nor  the  fright-look,  nor 
the  grief-look;  something  which  the  eyes  can  see, but  which 
the  tongue  can  not  put  into  words.  She  looks  and  thinks, 
looks  and  thinks,  till  there  steals  into  her  mind  a  doubt 
which  makes  her  tremble  at  herself,  which  drives  her  straight 
forward  into  Sarah's  room,  which  sets  her  eyes  searching 
through  and  through  Sarah  to  her  inmost  heart.  '  There  is 
something  on  your  mind  besides  your  grief  for  the  dead  and 
gone,'  she  says,  and  catches  Sarah  by  both  the  arms  before 
she  can  turn  way,  and  looks  her  in  the  face,  front  to  front, 
with  curious  eyes  that  search  and  suspect  steadily.  '  The 
miner  man,  Polwheal,'  she  says ;  '  my  mind  misgives  me  about 
the  miner  man,  Polwheal.  Sarah !  I  have  been  more  friend 
to  you  than  mistress.  As  your  friend  I  ask  you  now — tell 
me  all  the  truth?'  The  question  waits;  but  no  word  of  an 
swer  !  only  Sarah  struggles  to  get  awray,  and  the  mistress 
holds  her  tighter  yet,  and  goes  on  and  says, '  I  know  that  the 
marriage-promise  passed  between  you  and  miner  Polwheal; 
I  know  that  if  ever  there  was  truth  in  man,  there  was  truth 
in  him ;  I  know  that  he  went  out  from  this  place  to  put  the 
banns  up,  for  you  and  for  him,  in  the  church.  Have  se 
crets  from  all  the  world  besides,  Sarah,  but  have  none  from 
me.  Tell  me,  this  minute — tell  me  the  truth  !  Of  all  the  lost 
creatures  in  this  big,  wide  world,  are  you — ?'  Before  she 
can  say  the  words  that  are  next  to  come,  Sarah  falls  on  her 
knees,  and  cries  out  suddenly  to  be  let  go  away  to  hide  and 
die,  and  be  heard  of  no  more.  That  was  all  the  answer  she 
gave.  It  was  enough  for  the  truth  then ;  it  is  enough  for 
the  truth  now." 

He  sighed  bitterly,  and  ceased  speaking  for  a  little  while. 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  325 

No  voice  broke  the  reverent  silence  that  followed  his  last 
words.  The  one  living  sound  that  stirred  in  the  stillness  of 
the  room  was  the  light  breathing  of  the  child  as  he  lay 
asleep  in  his  mother's  arms. 

"That  was  all  the  answer,"  repeated  the  old  man,  "and 
the  mistress  who  heard  it  says  nothing  for  some  time  after, 
but  still  looks  straight  forward  into  Sarah's  face,  and  grows 
paler  and  paler  the  longer  she  looks — paler  and  paler,  till  on 
a  sudden  she  starts,  and  at  one  flash  the  red  flies  back  into 
her  face.  '  No,'  she  says,  whispering  and  looking  at  the  door, 
'  once  your  friend,  Sarah,  always  your  friend.  Stay  in  this 
house,  keep  your  own  counsel,  do  as  I  bid  you,  and  leave  the 
rest  to  me.'  And  with  that  she  turns  round  quick  on  her 
heel,  and  falls  to  walking  up  and  down  the  room — faster, 
faster,  faster,  till  she  is  out  of  breath.  Then  she  pulls  the 
bell  with  an  angry  jerk,  and  calls  out  loud  at  the  door — 
'The  horses  !  I  want  to  ride ;'  then  turns  upon  Sarah — 'My 
gown  for  riding  in  !  Pluck  up  your  heart,  poor  creature ! 
On  my  life  and  honor,  I  will  save  you.  My  gown,  my  gown, 
then  ;  I  am  mad  for  a  gallop  in  the  open  air !'  And  she  goes 
out,  in  a  fever  of  the  blood,  and  gallops,  gallops,  till  the  horse 
reeks  again,  and  the  groom-man  who  rides  after  her  wonders 
if  she  is  mad.  When  she  comes  back,  for  all  that  ride  in  the 
air,  she  is  not  tired.  The  whole  evening  after,  she  is  now 
walking  about  the  room,  and  now  striking  loud  tunes  all 
mixed  up  together  on  the  piano.  At  the  bed-time,  she  can 
not  rest.  Twice,  three  times  in  the  night  she  frightens  Sarah 
by  coming  in  to  see  how  she  does,  and  by  saying  always 
those  same  words  over  again :  '  Keep  your  own  counsel,  do 
as  I  bid  you,  and  leave  the  rest  to  me.'  In  the  morning  she 
lies  late,  sleeps,  gets  up  very  pale  and  quiet,  and  says  to 
Sarah,  '  No  word  more  between  us  two  of  what  happened 
yesterday — no  word  till  the  time  comes  when  you  fear  the 
eyes  of  every  stranger  who  looks  at  you.  Then  I  shall  speak 
again.  Till  that  time  let  us  be  as  we  were  before  I  put  the 
question  yesterday,  and  before  you  told  the  truth  !' " 

At  this  point  he  broke  the  thread  of  the  narrative  again, 
explaining  as  he  did  so  that  his  memory  was  growing  con 
fused  about  a  question  of  time,  which  he  wished  to  state  cor 
rectly  in  introducing  the  series  of  events  that  were  next  to 
be  described. 

P 


326  THE    DEAD    SEC11ET. 

"Ah,  well!  well!"  he  said,  shaking  his  head,  after  vain 
ly  endeavoring  to  pursue  the  lost  recollection.  "For  once, 
I  must  acknowledge  that  I  forget.  Whether  it  was  two 
months,  or  whether  it  was  three,  after  the  mistress  said  those 
last  words  to  Sarah,  I  know  not — but  at  the  end  of  the  one 
time  or  of  the  other  she  one  morning  orders  her  carriage 
and  goes  away  alone  to  Truro.  In  the  evening  she  comes 
back  with  two  large  flat  baskets.  On  the  cover  of  the  one 
there  is  a  card,  and  written  on  it  are  the  letters  '  S.  L.'  On 
the  cover  of  the  other  there  is  a  card,  and  written  on  it  are 
the  letters  '11.  T.'  The  baskets  are  taken  into  the  mistress's 
room,  and  Sarah  is  called,  and  the  mistress  says  to  her, '  Open 
the  basket  with  S.  L.  on  it ;  for  those  are  the  letters  of  your 
name,  and  the  things  in  it  are  yours.'  Inside  there  is  first  a 
box,  which  holds  a  grand  bonnet  of  black  lace ;  then  a  fine 
dark  shawl ;  then  black  silk  of  the  best  kind,  enough  to  make 
a  gown ;  then  linen  and  stuff  for  the  under  garments,  all  of 
the  finest  sort.  'Make  up  those  things  to  fit  yourself,'  says 
the  mistress.  '  You  are  so  much  littler  than  I,  that  to  make 
the  things  up  new  is  less  trouble  than,  from  my  fit  to  yours, 
to  alter  old  gowns.'  Sarah,  to  all  this,  says  in  astonishment, 
4  Why  ?'  And  the  mistress  answers, '  I  will  have  no  questions. 
Remember  what  I  said — Keep  your  own  counsel,  and  leave 
the  rest  to  me!'  So  she  goes  out;  and  the  next  thing  she 
does  is  to  send  for  the  doctor  to  see  her.  lie  asks  what  is 
the  matter;  gets  for  answer  that  Mistress  Treverton  feels 
strangely,  and  not  like  herself;  also  that  she  thinks  the  soft 
air  of  Cornwall  makes  her  weak.  The  days-  pass,  and  the 
doctor  comes  and  goes,  and,  say  what  he  may,  those  two  an 
swers  are  always  the  only  two  that  he  can  get.  All  this 
time  Sarah  is  at  work ;  and  when  she  has  done,  the  mistress 
says,  '  Now  for  the  other  basket,  with  II.  T.  on  it ;  for  those 
are  the  letters  of  my  name,  and  the  things  in  it  are  mine.' 
Inside  this,  there  is  first  a  box  which  holds  a  common  bonnet 
of  black  straw ;  then  a  coarse  dark  shawl ;  then  a  gown  of 
good  common  black  stuff;  then  linen,  and  other  things  for 
the  under  garments,  that  are  only  of  the  sort  called  sec 
ond  best.  4  Make  up  all  that  rubbish,'  says  the  mistress, '  to 
fit  me.  No  questions  !  You  have  always  done  as  I  told  you ; 
do  as  I  tell  you  now,  or  you  are  a  lost  woman.'  When  the 
rubbish  is  made  up,  she  tries  it  on,  and  looks  in  the  glass, 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  327 

and  laughs  in  a  way  that  is  wild  and  desperate  to  hear.  4l)o 
I  make  a  fine,  buxom,  comely  servant-woman?'  she  says. 
llla!  but  I  have  acted  that  part  times  enough  in  my  past 
days  on  the  theatre-scene.'  And  then  she  takes  oft' the  clothes 
again,  and  bids  Sarah  pack  them  up  at  once  in  one  trunk,  and 
pack  the  things  she  has  made  for  herself  in  another.  'The 
doctor  orders  mo  to  go  away  out  of  this  damp,  soft  Cornwall 
climate,  to  where  the  air  is  fresh  and  dry  and  cheerful-keen,' 
she  says,  and  laughs  again,  till  the  room  rings  with  it.  At 
the  same  time  Sarah  begins  to  pack,  and  takes  some  knick- 
knack  things  oft' the  table,  and  among  them  a  brooch  which 
has  on  it  a  likeness  of  the  sea-captain's  face.  The  mistress 
sees  her,  turns  white  in  the  cheeks,  trembles  all  over,  snatches 
the  brooch  away,  and  locks  it  up  in  the  cabinet  in  a  great 
hurry,  as  if  the  look  of  it  frightened  her.  'I  shall  leave  that 
behind  me,'  she  says,  and  turns  round  on  her  heel,  and  goes 
quickly  out  of  the  room.  You  guess  now  what  the  thing  was 
that  Mistress  Treverton  had  it  in  her  mind  to  do  ?" 

He  addressed  the  question  to  Rosamond  first,  and  then  re 
peated  it  to  Leonard.  They  both  answered  in  the  aih'rma- 
tive,  and  entreated  him  to  go  on. 

"You  guess?"  he  said.  "It  is  more  than  Sarah,  at  that 
time,  could  do.  What  with  the  misery  in  her  own  mind,  and 
the  strange  ways  and  strange  wrords  of  her  mistress,  the  wits 
that  were  in  her  were  all  confused.  Nevertheless,  what  her 
mistress  has  said  to  her,  that  she  has  always  done ;  and  togeth 
er  alone  those  two  from  the  house  of  Porthgenna  drive  away. 
Not  a  word  says  the  mistress  till  they  have  got  to  the  jour 
ney's  end  for  the  first  day,  and  are  stopping  at  their  inn  among 
strangers  for  the  night.  Then  at  last  she  speaks  out.  'Tut 
you  on,  Sarah,  the  good  linen  and  the  good  gown  to-morrow,' 
she  says,  '  but  keep  the  common  bonnet  and  the  common 
shawl  till  we  get  into  the  carriage  again.  I  shall  put  on  the 
coarse  linen  and  the  coarse  gown,  and  keep  the  good  bonnet 
and  shawl.  We  shall  pass  so  the  people  at  the  inn,  on  our 
way  to  the  carriage,  without  very  much  risk  of  sin-prising 
them  by  our  change  of  gowns.  When  we  are  out  on  the  road 
again,  we  can  change  bonnets  and  shawls  in  the  carriage — 
and  then,  it  is  all  done.  You  arc  the  married  lady,  Mrs. 
Treverton,  and  I  am  your  maid  who  waits  on  you,  Sarah  Lee- 
son.'  At  that,  the  glimmering  on  Sarah's  mind  breaks  in  at 


328  TIIE    DEAD    SECRET. 

last :  she  shakes  with  the  fright  it  gives  her,  and  all  she  can 
say  is,  '  Oh,  mistress  !  for  the  love  of  Heaven,  what  is  it  you 
mean  to  do?'  'I  mean,' the  mistress  answers, 'to  save  you, 
my  faithful  servant,  from  disgrace  and  ruin ;  to  prevent  ev 
ery  penny  that  the  captain  has  got  from  going  to  that  rascal- 
monster,  his  brother,  who  slandered  me;  and,  last  and  most, 
I  mean  to  keep  my  husband  from  going  away  to  sea  again, 
by  making  him  love  me  as  he  has  never  loved  me  yet.  Must 
I  say  more,  you  poor,  afflicted,  frightened  creature — or  is  it 
enough  so?'  And  all  that  Sarah  can  answer,  is  to  cry  bitter 
tears,  and  to  say  faintly,  'No.'  'Do  you  doubt,'  says  the 
mistress,  and  grips  her  by  the  arm,  and  looks  her  close  in  the 
face  with  fierce  eyes — '  Do  you  doubt  which  is  best,  to  cast 
yourself  into  the  world  forsaken  and  disgraced  and  ruined, 
or  to  save  yourself  from  shame,  and  make  a  friend  of  me  for 
the  rest  of  your  life  ?  You  wreak,  wavering,  baby  woman,  if 
you  can  not  decide  for  yourself,  I  shall  for  you.  As  I  will, 
so  it  shall  be  !  To-morrow,  and  the  day  after  that,  wre  go 
on  and  on,  up  to  the  north,  where  my  good  fool  of  a  doctor 
says  the  air  is  cheerful-keen — up  to  the  north,  where  nobody 
knows  me  or  has  heard  my  name.  I,  the  maid,  shall  spread 
the  report  that  you,  the  lady,  are  weak  in  your  health.  No 
strangers  shall  you  see,  but  the  doctor  and  the  nurse,  wrhen 
the  time  to  call  them  comes.  Who  they  may  be,  I  know  not ; 
but  this  I  do  know,  that  the  one  and  the  other  will  serve  our 
purpose  without  the  least  suspicion  of  wrhat  it  is ;  and  that 
when  we  get  back  to  Cornwall  again,  the  secret  between  us 
two  will  to  no  third  person  have  been  trusted,  and  will  remain 
a  Dead  Secret  to  the  end  of  the  world  !'  With  all  the  strength 
of  the  strong  will  that  is  in  her,  at  the  hush  of  night  and  in 
a  house  of  strangers,  she  speaks  those  words  to  the  woman 
of  all  women  the  most  frightened,  the  most  afflicted,  the  most 
helpless,  the  most  ashamed.  What  need  to  say  the  end? 
On  that  night  Sarah  first  stooped  her  shoulders  to  the  burden 
that  has  weighed  heavier  and  heavier  on  them  with  every 
year,  for  all  her  after-life." 

"How  many  days  did  they  travel  toward  the  north?" 
asked  Rosamond,  eagerly.  "Where  did  the  journey  end? 
In  England  or  in  Scotland  ?" 

"In  England,"  answered  Uncle  Joseph.  "But  the  name 
of  the  place  escapes  my  foreign  tongue.  It  was  a  little  town 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  329 

by  the  side  of  the  sea — the  great  sea  that  washes  between 
my  country  and  yours.  There  they  stopped,  and  there  they 
waited  till  the  time  came  to  send  for  the  doctor  and  the  nurse. 
And  as  Mistress  Treverton  had  said  it  should  be,  so,  from 
the  first  to  the  last,  it  was.  The  doctor  and  the  nurse,  and 
the  people  of  the  house  wrere  all  strangers ;  and  to  this  day, 
if  they  still  live,  they  believe  that  Sarah  was  the  sea-captain's 
wife,  and  that  Mistress  Treverton  was  the  maid  who  waited 
on  her.  Not  till  they  were  far  back  on  their  way  home  with 
the  child  did  the  two  change  gowns  again,  and  return  each 
to  her  proper  place.  The  first  friend  at  Porthgenna  that  the 
mistress  sends  for  to  show  the  child  to,  when  she  gets  back, 
is  the  doctor  who  lives  there.  'Did  you  think  what  was  the 
matter  with  me,  when  you  sent  me  away  to  change  the  air?' 
she  says,  and  laughs.  And  the  doctor,  he  laughs  too,  and 
says,  'Yes,  surely!  but  I  was  too  cunning  to  say  what  I 
thought  in  those  early  days,  because,  at  such  times,  there  is 
always  fear  of  a  mistake.  And  you  found  the  fine  dry  air 
so  good  for  you  that  you  stopped  ?'  he  says.  c  Well,  that 
Avas  right !  right  for  yourself  and  right  also  for  the  child.' 
And  the  doctor  laughs  again  and  the  mistress  with  him,  and 
Sarah,  who  stands  by  and  hears  them,  feels  as  if  her  heart 
would  burst  within  her,  with  the  horror,  and  the  misery,  and 
the  shame  of  that  deceit.  When  the  doctor's  back  is  turned, 
she  goes  down  on  her  knees,  and  begs  and  prays  with  all  her 
soul  that  the  mistress  will  repent,  and  send  her  away  with 
her  child,  to  be  heard  of  at  Porthgenna  no  more.  The  mis 
tress,  with  that  tyrant-will  of  hers,  has  but  four  words  of  an 
swer  to  crive — 'It  is  too  late!'  Five  weeks  after,  the  sea- 

O  ' 

captain  comes  back,  and  the  '  Too  late '  is  a  truth  that  no 
repentance  can  ever  alter  more.  The  mistress's  cunning  hand 
that  has  guided  the  deceit  from  the  first,  guides  it  always  to 
the  last — guides  it  so  that  the  captain,  for  the  love  of  her  and 
of  the  child,  goes  back  to  the  sea  no  more — guides  it  till  the 
time  when  she  lays  her  down  on  the  bed  to  die,  and  leaves 
all  the  burden  of  the  secret,  and  all  the  guilt  of  the  confes 
sion,  to  Sarah — to  Sarah,  who,  under  the  tyranny  of  that  ty 
rant-will,  has  lived  in  the  house,  for  five  long  years,  a  stran 
ger  to  her  own  child  !" 

"  Five   years !"    murmured   Rosamond,  raising  the  baby 
gently  in  her  arms,  till  his  face  touched  hers.    "  Oh  me  !  five 


330  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

long  years  a  stranger  to  the  blood  of  her  blood,  to  the  heart 
of  her  heart !" 

"  And  all  the  years  after !"  said  the  old  man.  "  The  lone 
some  years  and  years  among  strangers,  with  no  sight  of  the 
child  that  was  growing  up,  with  no  heart  to  pour  the  story 
of  her  sorrow  into  the  ear  of  any  living  creature,  not  even 
into  mine  !  '  Better,'  I  said  to  her,  when  she  could  speak  to 
me  no  more,  and  when  her  face  was  turned  away  again  on 
the  pillow — '  a  thousand  times  better,  my  child,  if  you  had 
told  the  Secret !'  'Could  I  tell  it,'  she  said,  *  to  the  master 
who  trusted  me?  Could  I  tell  it  afterward  to  the  child, 
whose  birth  was  a  reproach  to  me  ?  Could  she  listen  to  the 
story  of  her  mother's  shame,  told  by  her  mother's  lips  ?  How 
will  she  listen  to  it  now,  Uncle  Joseph,  when  she  hears  it 
from  you?  Remember  the  life  she  has  led,  and  the  high 
place  she  has  held  in  the  world.  How  can  she  forgive  me  ? 
How  can- she  ever  look  at  me  in  kindness  again  ?'  " 

"You  never  left  her,"  cried  Rosamond,  interposing  before 
he  could  say  more — "surely,  surely,  you  never  left  her  with 
that  thought  in  her  heart  P 

Uncle  Joseph's  head  drooped  on  his  breast.  "  What  words 
of  mine  could  change  it?"  he  asked,  sadly. 

"  Oh,  Lenny,  do  you  hear  that  ?  I  must  leave  you,  and 
leave  the  babj^.  I  must  go  to  her,  or  those  last  words  about 
me  will  break  my  heart."  The  passionate  tears  burst  from 
her  eyes  as  she  spoke ;  and  she  rose  hastily  from  her  seat, 
with  the  child  in  her  arms. 

"  Not  to-night,"  said  Uncle  Joseph.  "  She  said  to  me  at 
parting,  *I  can  bear  no  more  to-night;  give  me  till  the  morn 
ing  to  get  as  strong  as  I  can.' " 

"  Oh,  go  back,  then,  yourself!"  cried  Rosamond.  "  Go,  for 
God's  sake,  without  wasting  another  moment,  and  make  her 
think  of  me  as  she  ought !  Tell  her  how  I  listened  to  you, 
with  my  own  child  sleeping  on  my  bosom  all  the  time — tell 
her — oh,  no,  no  !  words  are  too  cold  for  it ! — Come  here,  come 
close,  Uncle  Joseph  (I  shall  always  call  you  so  now) ;  come 
close  to  me  and  kiss  my  child — her  grandchild ! — Kiss  him  on 
this  cheek,  because  it  has  lain  nearest  to  my  heart.  And  now, 
go  back,  kind  and  dear  old  man — go  back  to  her  bedside,  and 
say  nothing  but  that  ./sent  that  kiss  to  her  J" 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  331 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE     CLOSE     OF     DAY. 

THE  night,  with  its  wakeful  anxieties,  wore  away  at  last ; 
and  the  morning  light  dawned  hopefully,  for  it  brought  with 
it  the  promise  of  an  end  to  Rosamond's  suspense. 

The  first  event  of  the  day  was  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Nixon, 
who  had  received  a  note  on  the  previous  evening,  written  by 
Leonard's  desire,  to  invite  him  to  breakfast.  Before  the  law 
yer  withdrew,  he  had  settled  with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frankland 
all  the  preliminary  arrangements  that  were  necessary  to  ef 
fect  the  restoration  of  the  purchase-money  of  Porthgenna 
Tower,  and  had  dispatched  a  messenger  with  a  letter  to  Bays- 
water,  announcing  his  intention  of  calling  upon  Andrew  Trev- 
erton  that  afternoon,  on  private  business  of  importance  relat 
ing  to  the  personal  estate  of  his  late  brother. 

Toward  noon,  Uncle  Joseph  arrived  at  the  hotel  to  take 
Rosamond  with  him  to  the  house  where  her  mother  lay  ill. 

He  came  in,  talking,  in  the  highest  spirits,  of  the  wonder 
ful  change  for  the  better  that  had  been  wrought  in  his  niece 
by  the  affectionate  message  which  he  had  taken  to  her  on  the 
previous  evening.  He  declared  that  it  had  made  her  look 
happier,  stronger,  younger,  all  in  a  moment ;  that  it  had  given 
her  the  longest,  quietest,  sweetest  night's  sleep  she  had  en 
joyed  for  years  and  years  past;  and,  last,  best  triumph  of  all, 
that  its  good  influence  had  been  acknowledged,  not  an  hour 
since,  by  the  doctor  himself. 

Rosamond  listened  thankfully,  but  it  was  with  a  wrandering 
attention,  with  a  mind  ill  at  ease.  When  she  had  taken  leave 
of  her  husband,  and  when  she  and  Uncle  Joseph  were  out  in 
the  street  together,  there  was  something  in  the  prospect  of 
the  approaching  interview  between  her  mother  and  herself 
which,  in  spite  of  her  efforts  to  resist  the  sensation,  almost 
daunted  her.  If  they  could  have  come  together,  and  have 
recognized  each  other  without  time  to  think  what  should  be 
first  said  or  done  on  either  side,  the  meeting  would  have  been 
nothing  more  than  the  natural  result  of  the  discovery  of  the 


332  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

Secret.  But,  as  it  was,  the  waiting,  the  doubting,  the  mourn 
ful  story  of  the  past,  which  had  filled  up  the  emptiness  of  the 
last  day  of  suspense,  all  had  their  depressing  effect  on  Rosa 
mond's  impulsive  disposition.  Without  a  thought  in  her 
heart  which  was  not  tender,  compassionate,  and  true  toward 
her  mother,  she  now  felt,  nevertheless,  a  vague  sense  of  em 
barrassment,  which  increased  to  positive  uneasiness  the  nearer 
she  and  the  old  man  drew  to  their  short  journey's  end.  As 
they  stopped  at  last  at  the  house  door,  she  was  shocked  to 
find  herself  thinking  beforehand  of  what  first  words  it  would 
be  best  to  say,  of  what  first  things  it  would  be  best  to  do,  as 
if  she  had  been  about  to  visit  a  total  stranger,  whose  favora 
ble  opinion  she  wished  to  secure,  and  whose  readiness  to  re 
ceive  her  cordially  was  a  matter  of  doubt. 

The  first  person  whom  they  saw  after  the  door  was  opened 
was  the  doctor.  He  advanced  toward  them  from  a  little 
empty  room  at  the  end  of  the  hall,  and  asked  permission  to 
speak  with  Mrs.  Frankland  for  a  few  minutes.  Leaving  Ros 
amond  to  her  interview  with  the  doctor,  Uncle  Joseph  gayly 
ascended  the  stairs  to  tell  his  niece  of  her  arrival,  with  an 
activity  which  might  well  have  been  envied  by  many  a  man 
of  half  his  years. 

"Is  she  worse?  Is  there  any  danger  in  my  seeing  her?" 
asked  Rosamond,  as  the  doctor  led  her  into  the  empty  room. 

"Quite  the  contrary,"  he  replied.  "She  is  much  better 
this  morning;  and  the  improvement,  I  find,  is  mainly  due  to 
the  composing  and  cheering  influence  on  her  mind  of  a  mes 
sage  which  she  received  from  you  last  night.  It  is  the  dis 
covery  of  this  which  makes  me  anxious  to  speak  to  you  now 
on  the  subject  of  one  particular  symptom  of  her  mental  con 
dition  which  surprised  and  alarmed  me  when  I  first  discover 
ed  it,  and  which  has  perplexed  me  very  much  ever  since. 
She  is  suffering — not  to  detain  you,  and  to  put  the  matter  at 
once  in  the  plainest  terms — under  a  mental  hallucination  of 
a  very  extraordinary  kind,  which,  so  far  as  I  have  observed 
it,  affects  her,  generally,  toward  the  close  of  the  day,  when 
the  light  gets  obscure.  At  such  times,  there  is  an  expres 
sion  in  her  eyes  as  if  she  fancied  some  person  had  walked 
suddenly  into  the  room.  She  looks  and  talks  at  perfect  va 
cancy,  as  you  or  I  might  look  or  talk  at  some  one  who  was 
really  standing  and  listening  to  us.  The  old  man,  her  uncle, 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  333 

tells  me  that  lie  first  observed  this  when  she  came  to  see 
him  (in  Cornwall,  I  think  he  said)  a  short  time  since.  She 
was  speaking  to  him  then  on  private  affairs  of  her  own,  when 
she  suddenly  stopped,  just  as  the  evening  was  closing  in, 
startled  him  by  a  question  on  the  old  superstitious  subject 
of  the  re-appearance  of  the  dead,  and  then,  looking  away  at  a 
shadowed  corner  of  the  room,  began  to  talk  at  it — exactly 
as  I  have  seen  her  look  and  heard  her  talk  up  stairs.  Wheth 
er  she  fancies  that  she  is  pursued  by  an  apparition,  or  wheth 
er  she  imagines  that  some  living  person  enters  her  room  at 
certain  times,  is  more  than  I  can  say ;  and  the  old  man  gives 
me  no  help  in  guessing  at  the  truth.  Can  you  throw  any 
light  on  the  matter?" 

"  I  hear  of  it  now  for  the  first  time,"  answered  Rosamond, 
looking  at  the  doctor  in  amazement  and  alarm. 

"Perhaps,"  he  rejoined,  "she  may  be  more  communicative 
with  you  than  she  is  with  me.  If  you  could  manage  to  be 
by  her  bedside  at  dusk  to-day  or  to-morrow,  and  if  you  think 
you  are  not  likely  to  be  frightened  by  it,  I  should  very  much 
wish  you  to  -see  and  hear  her,  when  she  is  under  the  influence 
of  her  delusion.  I  have  tried  in  vain  to  draw  her  attention 
away  from  it,  at  the  time,  or  to  get  her  to  speak  of  it  after 
ward.  You  have  evidently  considerable  influence  over  her, 
and  you  might  therefore  succeed  where  I  have  failed.  In  her 
state  of  health,  I  attach  great  importance  to  clearing  her 
mind  of  every  thing  that  clouds  and  oppresses  it,  and  espe 
cially  of  such  a  serious  hallucination  as  that  which  I  have 
been  describing.  If  you  could  succeed  in  combating  it,  you 
would  be  doing  her  the  greatest  service,  and  would  be  ma 
terially  helping  my  efforts  to  improve  her  health.  Do  you 
mind  trying  the  experiment  ?" 

Rosamond  promised  to  devote  herself  unreservedly  to  this 
service,  or  to  any  other  which  was  for  the  patient's  good. 
The  doctor  thanked  her,  and  led  the  way  back  into  the  hall 
again.  •  Uncle  Joseph  was  descending  the  stairs  as  they  came 
out  of  the  room.  "She  is  ready  and  longing  to  see  you,"  he 
whispered  in  Rosamond's  ear. 

"  I  am  sure  I  need  not  impress  on  you  again  the  very  seri 
ous  necessity  of  keeping  her  composed,"  said  the  doctor, 
taking  his  leave.  "  It  is,  I  assure  you,  no  exaggeration  to 
say  that  her  life  depends  on  it." 

P2 


334  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

Rosamond  bowed  to  him  in  silence,  and  in  silence  followed 
the  old  man  up  the  stairs. 

At  the  door  of  a  back  room  on  the  second  floor  Uncle 
Joseph  stopped. 

"She  is  there,"  he  whispered  eagerly.  "I  leave  you  to  go 
in  by  yourself,  for  it  is  best  that  you  should  be  alone  with 
her  at  first.  I  shall  walk  about  the  streets  in  the  fine  warm 
sunshine,  and  think  of  you  both,  and  come  back  after  a  little. 
Go  in  ;  and  the  blessing  and  the  mercy  of  God  go  with  you  !" 
He  lifted  her  hand  to  his  lips,  and  softly  and  quickly  de 
scended  the  stairs  again. 

Rosamond  stood  alone  before  the  door.  A  momentary 
tremor  shook  her  from  head  to  foot  as  she  stretched  out  her 
hand  to  knock  at  it.  The  same  sweet  voice  that  she  had  last 
heard  in  her  bedroom  at  West  Winston  answered  her  now. 
As  its  tones  fell  on  her  ear,  a  thought  of  her  child  stole 
quietly  into  her  heart,  and  stilled  its  quick  throbbing.  She 
opened  the  door  at  once  and  went  in. 

Neither  the  look  of  the  room  inside,  nor  the  view  from  the 
window ;  neither  its  characteristic  ornaments,  nor  its  promi 
nent  pieces  of  furniture ;  none  of  the  objects  in  it  or  about  it, 
which  would  have  caught  her  quick  observation  at  other 
times,  struck  it  now.  From  the  moment  when  she  opened 
the  door,  she  saw  nothing  but  the  pillows  of  the  bed,  the 
head  resting  on  them,  and  the  face  turned  toward  hers.  As 
she  stepped  across  the  threshold,  that  face  changed  ;  the  eye 
lids  drooped  a  little,  and  the  pale  cheeks  were  tinged  sudden 
ly  with  burning  red. 

Was  her  mother  ashamed  to  look  at  her? 

The  bare  doubt  freed  Rosamond  in  an  instant  from  all  the 
self-distrust,  all  the  embarrassment,  all  the  hesitation  about 
choosing  her  words  and  directing  her  actions  which  had  fet 
tered  her  generous  impulses  up  to  this  time.  She  ran  to  the 
bed,  raised  the  worn,  shrinking  figure  in  her  arms,  and  laid 
the  poor  weary  head  gently  on  her  warm,  young  bosom. 
"  I  have  come  at  last,  mother,  to  take  my  turn  at  nursing 
you,"  she  said.  Her  heart  swelled  as  those  simple  words 
came  from  it — her  eyes  overflowed — she  could  say  no  more. 

"Don't  cry!"  murmured  the  faint,  sweet  voice  timidly. 
"  I  have  no  right  to  bring  you  here  and  make  you  sorry. 
Don't,  don't  cry !" 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  335 

"  Oh,  hush  !  hush  !  I  shall  do  nothing  but  cry  if  you  talk 
to  me  like  that !"  said  Rosamond.  "  Let  us  forget  that  we 
have  ever  been  parted — eall  me  by  my  name — speak  to  me 
as  I  shall  speak  to  my  own  child,  if  God  spares  me  to  see 
him  grow  up.  Say  '  Rosamond,'  and — oh,  pray,  pray — tell 
me  to  do  something  for  you !"  She  tore  asunder  passionate 
ly  the  strings  of  her  bonnet,  "and  threw  it  from  her  on  the 
nearest  chair.  "  Look  !  here  is  your  glass  of  lemonade  on 
the  table.  Say  '  Rosamond,  bring  me  my  lemonade  !'  say  it 
familiarly,  mother  I  say  it  as  if  you  knew  that  I  was  bound 
to  obey  you !" 

She  repeated  the  words  after  her  daughter,  but  still  not 
in  steady  tones — repeated  them  with  a  sad,  wondering  smile, 
and  with  a  lingering  of  the  voice  on  the  name  of  Rosamond, 
as  if  it  was  a  luxury  to  her  to  utter  it. 

"  You  made  me  so  happy  with  that  message  and  with  the 
kiss  you  sent  me  from  your  child,"  she  said,  when  Rosamond 
had  given  her  the  lemonade,  and  was  seated  quietly  by  the 
bedside  again.  "  It  was  such  a  kind  way  of  saying  that  you 
pardoned  me  !  It  gave  me  all  the  courage  I  wanted  to  speak 
to  you  as  I  am  speaking  now.  Perhaps  my  illness  has 
changed  me — but  I  don't  feel  frightened  and  strange  with 
you,  as  I  thought  I  should,  at  our  first  meeting  after  you 
knew  the  Secret.  I  think  I  shall  soon  get  well  enough  to 
see  your  child.  Is  he  like  what  you  were  at  his  age  ?  If 
he  is,  he  must  be  very,  very—  '  She  stopped.  "  I  may  think 
of  that,"  she  added,  after  waiting  a  little,  "but  I  had  better 
not  talk  of  it,  or  I  shall  cry  too ;  and  I  want  to  have  done 
with  sorrow  now." 

While  she  spoke  those  words,  while  her  eyes  were  fixed 
with  wistful  eagerness  on  her  daughter's  face,  the  whole  in 
stinct  of  neatness  was  still  mechanically  at  work  in  her  weak, 
wasted  fingers.  Rosamond  had  tossed  her  gloves  from 
her  on  the  bed  but  the  minute  before;  and  already  her 
mother  had  taken  them  up,  and  was  smoothing  them  out 
carefully  and  folding  them  neatly  together,  all  the  while  she 
spoke. 

"  Call  me  '  mother '  again,"  she  said,  as  Rosamond  took  the 
gloves  from  her  and  thanked  her  with  a  kiss  for  folding  them 
up.  "I  have  never  heard  you  call  me  *  mother'  till  now — 
never,  never  till  now,  from  the  day  when  you  were  born  !" 


336  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

Rosamond  checked  the  tears  that  were  rising  in  her  eyes 
again,  and  repeated  the  word. 

"  It  is  all  the  happiness  I  want,  to  lie  here  and  look  at  yon, 
and  hear  you  say  that !  Is  there  any  other  woman  in  the 
world,  my  love,  who  has  a  face  so  beautiful  and  so  kind  as 
yours?"  She  paused  and  smiled  faintly.  "I  can't  look  at 
those  sweet  rosy  lips  now,"  she  said,  "without  thinking  how 
many  kisses  they  owe  me  !" 

"  If  you  had  only  let  me  pay  the  debt  before  !"  said  Rosa 
mond,  taking  her  mother's  hand,  as  she  was  accustomed  to 
take  her  child's,  and  placing  it  on  her  neck.  "  If  you  had 
only  spoken  the  first  time  we  met,  when  you  came  to  nurse 
me !  How  sorrowfully  I  have  thought  of  that  since  !  Oh, 
mother,  did  I  distress  you  much  in  my  ignorance?  Did  it 
make  you  cry  when  you  thought  of  me  after  that  ?" 

"Distress  me!  All  my  distress,  Rosamond,  has  been  of 
my  own  making,  not  of  yours.  My  kind,  thoughtful  love  ! 
you  said,  *  Don't  be  hard  on  her' — do  you  remember  ?  When 
I  was  being  sent  away,  deservedly  sent  away,  dear,  for  fright 
ening  you,  you  said  to  your  husband, ' Don't  be  hard  on  her!' 
Only  five  words — but,  oh,  what  a  comfort  it  was  to  me  after 
ward  to  think  that  you  had  said  them !  I  did  want  to  kiss 
you  so,  Rosamond,  when  I  was  brushing  your  hair.  I  had 
such  a  hard  fight  of  it  to  keep  from  crying  out  loud*  when  I 
heard  you,  behind  the  bed-curtains,  wishing  your  little  child 
good-night.  My  heart  was  in  my  mouth,  choking  me  all 
that  time.  I  took  your  part  afterward,  when  I  went  back  to 
my  mistress — I  wouldn't  hear  her  say  a  harsh  word  of  you. 
I  could  have  looked  a  hundred  mistresses  in  the  face  then, 
and  contradicted  them  all.  Oh,  no,  no,  no !  you  never  dis 
tressed  me.  My  worst  grief  at  going  away  Avas  years  and 
years  before  I  came  to  nurse  you  at  West  Winston.  It  was 
when  I  left  my  place  at  Porthgenna ;  when  I  stole  into  your 
nursery  on  that  dreadful  morning,  and  when  I  saw  you  with 
both  your  little  arms  round  my  master's  neck.  The  doll  you 
had  taken  to  bed  with  you  was  in  one  of  your  hands,  and 
your  head  was  resting  on  the  Captain's  bosom,  just  as  mine 
rests  now — oh,  so  happily,  Rosamond ! — on  yours.  I  heard 
the  last  words  he  was  speaking  to  you — words  you  were  too 
young  to  remember.  '  Hush  !  Rosie,  dear,'  he  said,  '  don't 
cry  any  more  for  poor  mamma.  Think  of  poor  papa,  and  try 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  337 

to  comfort  him !'  There,  my  love — there  was  the  bitterest 
distress  and  the  hardest  to  bear  !  I,  your  own  mother,  stand 
ing  like  a  spy,  and  hearing  him  say  that  to  the  child  I  dared 
not  own  !  '  Think  of  poor  papa  !'  My  own  Rosamond  !  you 
know,  now,  what  father  I  thought  of  when  he  said  those 
words  !  How  could  I  tell  him  the  Secret?  how  could  I  give 
him  the  letter,  with  his  wife  dead  that  morning — with  no 
body  but  you  to  comfort  him — with  the  awful  truth  crush 
ing  down  upon  my  heart,  at  every  word  he  spoke,  as  heavily 
as  eve<r  the  rock  crushed  down  upon  the  father  you  never 
saw !" 

"  Don't  speak  of  it  now  !"  said  Rosamond.  "  Don't  let  us 
refer  again  to  the  past :  I  know  all  I  ought  to  know,  all  I 
wish  to  know  of  it.  We  will  talk  of  the  future,  mother,  and 
of  happier  times  to  come.  Let  me  tell  you  about  my  hus 
band.  If  any  words  can  praise  him  as  he  ought  to  be  praised, 
and  thank  him  as  he  ought  to  be  thanked,  I  am  sure  mine 
ought — I  am  sure  yours  will !  Let  me  tell  you  what  he  said 
and  what  he  did  when  I  read  to  him  the  letter  that  I  found 
in  the  Myrtle  Room.  Yes,  yes,  do  let  me  !" 

Warned  by  a  remembrance  of  the  doctor's  last  injunc 
tions  ;  trembling  in  secret,  as  she  felt  under  her  hand  the 
heavy,  toilsome,  irregular  heaving  of  her  mother's  heart,  as 
she  saw  the  rapid  changes  of  color,  from  pale  to  red,  and  from 
red  to  pale  again,  that  fluttered  across  her  mother's  face,  she 
resolved  to  let  no  more  words  pass  between  them  which  were 
of  a  nature  to  recall  painfully  the  sorrows  and  the  suffering 
of  the  years  that  were  gone.  After  describing  the  interview 
between  her  husband  and  herself  which  ended  in  .the  disclos 
ure  of  the  Secret,  she  led  her  mother,  with  compassionate  ab 
ruptness,  to  speak  of  the  future,  of  the  time  when  she  would 
be  able  to  travel  again,  of  the  happiness  of  returning  together 
to  Cornwall,  of  the  little  festival  they  might  hold  on  arriving 
at  Uncle  Joseph's  house  in  Truro,  and  of  the  time  after  that, 
when  they  might  go  on  still  farther  to  Porthgenna,  or  per 
haps  to  some  other  place  where  new  scenes  and  new  faces 
might  help  them  to  forget  all  sad  associations  which  it  was 
best  to  think  of  no  more. 

Rosamond  was  still  speaking  on  these  topics,  her  mother 
was  still  listening  to  her  with  growing  interest  in  every  word 
that  she  said,  when  Uncle  Joseph  returned.  He  brought  in 


338  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

with  him  a  basket  of  flowers  and  a  basket  of  fruit,  which  he 
held  up  in  triumph  at  the  foot  of  his  niece's  bed. 

"  I  have  been  walking  about,  my  child,  in  the  fine  bright 
sunshine,"  he  said,  "  and  waiting  to  give  your  face  plenty  of 
time  to  look  happy,  so  that  I  might  gee  it  again  as  I  want  to 
see  it  always,  for  the  rest  of  my  life.  Aha,  Sarah  !  it  is  I  who 
have  brought  the  right  doctor  to  cure  you  !"  he  added  gayly, 
looking  at  Rosamond.  "  She  has  made  you  better  already. 
Wait  but  a  little  while  longer,  and  she  shall  get  you  up  from 
your  bed  again,  with  your  two  cheeks  as  red,  and  your  heart 
as  light,  and  your  tongue  as  fast  to  chatter  as  mine.  See 
the  fine  flowers  and  the  fruit  I  have  bought  that  is  nice  to 
your  eyes,  and  nice  to  your  nose,  and  nicest  of  all  to  put  into 
your  mouth  !  It  is  festival-time  with  us  to-day,  and  we  must 
make  the  room  bright,  bright,  bright,  all  over.  And  then, 
there  is  your  dinner  to  come  soon  ;  I  have  seen  it  on  the  dish 
— a  cherub  among  chicken-ftnvls  !  And,  after  that,  there  is 
your  fine  sound  sleep,  with  Mozart  to  sing  the  cradle  song, 
and  with  me  to  sit  for  watch,  and  to  go  down  stairs  when 
you  wake  up  again,  and  fetch  your  cup  of  tea.  Ah,  my  child, 
my  child,  what  a  fine  thing  it  is  to  have  come  at  last  to  this 
festival-day  !" 

With  a  bright  look  at  Rosamond,  and  with  both  his  hands 
full  of  flowers,  he  turned  away  from  his  niece  to  begin  deco 
rating  the  room.  Except  when  she  thanked  the  old  man  for 
the  presents  he  had  brought,  her  attention  had  never  wan 
dered,  all  the  while  he  had  been  speaking,  from  her  daughter's 
face  ;  and  her  first  words,  when  he  was  silent  again,  were  ad 
dressed  to  Rosamond  alone. 

"  While  I  am  happy  with  my  child,"  she  said,  "  I  am  keep 
ing  you  from  yours.  I,  of  all  persons,  ought  to  be  the  last  to 
part  you  from  each  other  too  long.  Go  back  now,  my  love, 
to  your  husband  and  your  child ;  and  leave  me  to  my  grate 
ful  thoughts  and  my  dreams  of  better  times." 

"If  you  please,  answer  Yes  to  that,  for  your  mother's  sake," 
said  Uncle  Joseph,  before  Rosamond  could  reply.  "  The  doc 
tor  says  she  must  take  her  repose  in  the  day  as  well  as  her 
repose  in  the  night.  And  how  shall  I  get  her  to  close  her 
eyes,  so  long  as  she  has  the  temptation  to  keep  them  open 
upon  you .?" 

Rosamond  felt  the  truth  of  those  last  words,  and  consented 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  339 

to  go  back  for  a  few  hours  to  the  hotel,  on  the  understanding 
that  she  was  to  resume  her  place  at  the  bedside  in  the  even 
ing.  After  making  this  arrangement,  she  waited  long  enough 
in  the  room  to  see  the  meal  brought  up  which  Uncle  Joseph 
had  announced,  and  to  aid  the  old  man  in  encouraging  her 
mother  to  partake  of  it.  When  the  tray  had  been  removed, 
and  when  the  pillows  of  the  bed  had  been  comfortably  ar 
ranged  by  her  own  hands,  she  at  last  prevailed  on  herself  to 
take  leave. 

Her  mother's  arms  lingered  round  her  neck ;  her  mother's 
cheek  nestled  fondly  against  hers.  "  Go,  my  dear,  go  now, 
or  I  shall  get  too  selfish  to  part  with  you  even  for  a  few 
hours,"  murmured  the  sweet  voice,  in  the  lowest,  softest 
tones.  "  My  own  Rosamond  !  I  have  no  words  to  bless  you 
that  are  good  enough  ;  no  words  to  thank  you  that  will  speak 
as  gratefully  for  me  as  they  ought !  Happiness  has  been 
long  in  reaching  me — but,  oh,  how  mercifully  it  has  come  at 
last !" 

Before  she  passed  the  door,  Rosamond  stopped  and  looked 
back  into  the  room.  The  table,  the  mantel-piece,  the  little 
framed  prints  on  the  wall  were  bright  with  flowers;  the  mu 
sical  box  was  just  playing  the  first  sweet  notes  of  the  air 
from  Mozart ;  Uncle  Joseph  was  seated  already  in  his  accus 
tomed  place  by  the  bed,  with  the  basket  of  fruit  on  his  knees ; 
the  pale,  worn  face  on  the  pillow  was  tenderly  lighted  up  by 
a  smile ;  peace  and  comfort  and  repose,  all  mingled  together 
happily  in  the  picture  of  the  sick-room,  all  joined  in  leading 
Rosamond's  thoughts  to  dwell  quietly  on  the  hope  of  a  hap 
pier  time. 

Three  hours  passed.  The  last  glory  of  the  sun  was  light 
ing  the  long  summer  day  to  its  rest  in  the  western  heaven, 
when  Rosamond  returned  to  her  mother's  bedside. 

She  entered  the  room  softly.  The  one  window  in  it  looked 
toward  the  west,  and  on  that  side  of  the  bed  the  chair  was 
placed  which  Uncle  Joseph  had  occupied  when  she  left  him, 
and  in  which  she  now  found  him  still  seated  on  her  return. 
He  raised  his  fingers  to  his  lips,  and  looked  toward  the  bed, 
as  she  opened  the  door.  Her  mother  was  asleep,  with  her 
hand  resting  in  the  hand  of  the  old  man. 

As  Rosamond  noiselessly  advanced,  she  saw  that  Uncle  Jo- 


340  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

seph's  eyes  looked  dim  and  weary.  The  constraint  of  the 
position  that  he  occupied,  which  made  it  impossible  for  him 
to  move  without  the  risk  of  awakening  his  niece,  seemed  to 
be  beginning  to  fatigue  him.  Rosamond  removed  her  bon 
net  and  shawl,  and  made  a  sign  to  him  to  rise  and  let  her 
take  his  place. 

"  Yes,  yes !"  she  whispered,  seeing  him  reply  by  a  shake 
of  the  head.  "  Let  me  take  my  turn,  while  you  go  out  a 
little  and  enjoy  the  cool  evening  air.  There  is  no  fear  of 
waking  her ;  her  hand  is  not  clasping  yours,  but  only  resting 
in  it — let  me  steal  mine  into  its  place  gently,  and  we  shall 
not  disturb  her." 

She  slipped  her  hand  under  her  mother's  while  she  spoke. 
Uncle  Joseph  smiled  as  he  rose  from  his  chair,  and  resigned 
his  place  to  her.  "  You  will  have  your  way,"  he  said  ;  "you 
are  too  quick  and  sharp  for  an  old  man  like  me." 

"  Has  she  been  long  asleep  ?"  asked  Rosamond. 

"  Nearly  two  hours,"  answered  Uncle  Joseph.  "  But  it  has 
not  been  the  good  sleep  I  wanted  for  her — a  dreaming,  talk 
ing,  restless  sleep.  It  is  only  ten  little  minutes  since  she  has 
been  so  quiet  as  you  see  her  now." 

"  Surely  you  let  in  too  much  light  ?"  whispered  Rosamond, 
looking  round  at  the  window,  through  which  the  glow  of  the 
evening  sky  poured  warmly  into  the  room. 

"No,  no  !"  he  hastily  rejoined.  "Asleep  or  awake,  she  al 
ways  wants  the  light.  If  I  go  away  for  a  little  while,  as  you 
tell  me,  and  if  it  gets  on  to  be  dusk  before  I  come  back,  light 
both  those  candles  on  the  chimney-piece.  I  shall  try  to  be 
here  again  before  that ;  but  if  the  time  slips  by  too  fast  for 
me,  and  if  it  so  happens  that  she  wakes  and  talks  strangely, 
and  looks  much  away  from  you  into  that  far  corner  of  the 
room  there,  remember  that  the  matches  and  the  candles  are 
together  on  the  chimney-piece,  and  that  the  sooner  you  light 
them  after  the  dim  twilight-time,  the  better  it  will  be."  With 
those  words  he  stole  on  tiptoe  to  the  door  and  went  out. 

His  parting  directions  recalled  Rosamond  to  a  remembrance 
of  what  had  passed  between  the  doctor  and  herself  that 
morning.  She  looked  round  again  anxiously  to  the  window. 

The  sun  was  just  sinking  beyond  the  distant  house-tops; 
the  close  of  day  was  not  far  off. 

As  she  turned  her  head  once  more  toward  the  bed,  a  mo- 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  341 

mcntary  chill  crept  over  her.  She  trembled  a  little,  partly 
at  the  sensation  itself,  partly  at  the  recollection  it  aroused  of 
that  other  chill  which  had  struck  her  in  the  solitude  of  the 
Myrtle  Room. 

Stirred  by  the  mysterious  sympathies  of  touch,  her  mother's 
hand  at  the  same  instant  moved  in  hers,  and  over  the  sad 
pcacefulness  of  the  weary  face  there  fluttered  a  momentary 
trouble — the  flying  shadow  of  a  dream.  The  pale,  parted  lips 
opened,  closed,  quivered,  opened  again  ;  the  toiling  breath 
came  and  went  quickly  and  more  quickly;  the  head  moved 
uneasily  on  the  pillow ;  the  eyelids  half  unclosed  themselves ; 
low,  faint,  moaning  sounds  poured  rapidly  from  the  lips — 
changed  ere  lone:  to  half-articulated  sentences — then  merged 

O  O  O 

softly  into  intelligible  speech,  and  uttered  these  words : 

"  Swear  that  you  will  not  destroy  this  paper  !  Swear  that 
you  will  not  take  this  paper  away  with  you  if  you  leave  the 
house !" 

The  words  that  followed  these  were  whispered  so  rapidly 
and  so  low  that  Rosamond's  ear  failed  to  catch  them.  They 
were  followed  by  a  short  silence.  Then  the  dreaming  voice 
spoke  again  suddenly,  and  spoke  louder. 

"Where?  where?  where:"  it  said.  "In  the  book-case? 
In  the  table-drawer? — Stop!  stop!  In  the  picture  of  the 
ghost—" 

The  last  words  struck  cold  on  Rosamond's  heart.  She 
drew  back  suddenly  with  a  movement  of  alarm — checked 
herself  the  instant  after,  and  bent  down  over  the  pillow 
again.  But  it  was  too  late.  Her  hand  had  moved  abruptly 
when  she  drew  back,  and  her  mother  awoke  with  a  start  and 
a  faint  cry — with  vacant,  terror-stricken  eyes,  and  with  the 
perspiration  standing  thick  on  her  forehead. 

"Mother  !"  cried  Rosamond,  raising  her  on  the  pillow.  "I 
have  come  back.  Don't  you  know  me  ?" 

"Mother?"  she  repeated,  in  mournful,  questioning  tones — 
"Mother?"  At  the  second  repetition  of  the  word  a  bright 
flush  of  delight  and  surprise  broke  out  on  her  face,  and  she 
clasped  both  arms  suddenly  round  her  daughter's  neck.  "Oh, 
my  own  Rosamond  !"  she  said.  "  If  I  had  ever  been  used  to 
waking  up  and  seeing  your  dear  face  look  at  me,  I  should 
have  known  you  sooner,  in  spite  of  my  dream !  Did  you 
wake  me,  my  love  ?  or  did  I  wake  myself?" 


342  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  awoke  you,  mother." 

"  Don't  say  '  afraid.'  I  would  wake  from  the  sweetest  sleep 
that  ever  woman  had  to  see  your  face  and  to  hear  you  say 
'  mother'  to  me.  You  have  delivered  me,  my  love,  from  the 
terror  of  one  of  my  dreadful  dreams.  Oh,  Rosamond  !  I  think 
I  should  live  to  be  happy  in  your  love,  if  I  could  only  get 
Porthgenna  Tower  out  of  my  mind — if  I  could  only  never 
remember  again  the  bed-chamber  where  my  mistress  died, 
and  the  room  where  I  hid  the  letter — " 

"  We  will  try  and  forget  Porthgenna  Tower  now,"  said 
Rosamond.  "Shall  we  talk  about  other  places  where  I  have 
lived,  which  you  have  never  seen  ?  Or  shall  I  read  to  yon, 
mother  ?  Have  you  got  any  book  here  that  you  are  fond  of?" 

She  looked  across  the  bed  at  the  table  on  the  other  side. 
There  was  nothing  on  it  but  some  bottles  of  medicine,  a  few 
of  Uncle  Joseph's  flowers  in  a  glass  of  water,  and  a  little  ob 
long  work-box.  She  looked  round  at  the  chest  of  drawers 
behind  her — there  were  no  books  placed  on  the  top  of  it. 
Before  she  turned  toward  the  bed  again,  her  eyes  wandered 
aside  to  the  window.  The  sun  was  lost  beyond  the  distant 
house-tops;  the  close  of  day  was  near  at  hand. 

"If  I  could  forget !  Oh,  me,  if  I  could  only  forget !"  said 
her  mother,  sighing  wearily,  and  beating  her  hand  on  the 
coverlid  of  the  bed. 

"Are  you  well  enough,  dear,  to  amuse  yourself  with  work?" 
asked  Rosamond,  pointing  to  the  little  oblong  box  on  the 
table,  and  trying  to  lead  the  conversation  to  a  harmless, 
every-day  topic,  by  asking  questions  about  it.  "What  work 
do  you  do  ?  May  I  look  at  it  ?" 

Her  face  lost  its  weary,  suffering  look,  and  brightened  once 
more  into  a  smile.  "  There  is  no  work  there,"  she  said. 
"All  the  treasures  I  had  in  the  world,  till  you  came  to  see 
me,  are  shut  up  in  that  one  little  box.  Open  it,  my  love,  and 
look  inside." 

Rosamond  obeyed,  placing  the  box  on  the  bed  where  her 
mother  could  see  it  easily.  The  first  object  that  she  discov 
ered  inside  was  a  little  book,  in  dark,  worn  binding.  It  was 
an  old  copy  of  Wesley's  Hymns.  Some  withered  blades  of 
grass  lay  between  its  pages ;  and  on  one  of  its  blank  leaves 
was  this  inscription — "  Sarah  Leeson,  her  book.  The  gift  of 
Hugh  Polwheal." 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  343 

"  Look  at  it,  my  dear,"  said  her  mother.  "  I  want  you  to 
know  it  again.  When  my  time  comes  to  leave  you,  Rosa 
mond,  lay  it  on  my  bosom  with  your  own  dear  hands,  and 
put  a  little  morsel  of  your  hair  with  it,  and  bury  me  in  the 
grave  in  Porthgenna  church-yard,  where  he  has  been  waiting 
for  me  to  come  to  him  so  many  weary  years.  The  other 
things  in  the  box,  Rosamond,  belong  to  you ;  they  are  little 
stolen  keepsakes  that  used  to  remind  me  of  my  child,  when  I 
was  alone  in  the  world.  Perhaps,  years  and  years  hence, 
when  your  brown  hair  begins  to  grow  gray  like  mine,  you 
may  like  to  show  these  poor  trifles  to  your  children  when 
you  talk  about  me.  Don't  mind  telling  them,  Rosamond, 
how  your  mother  sinned  and  how  she  suffered — you  can  al 
ways  let  these  little  trifles  speak  for  her  at  the  end.  The 
least  of  them  will  show  that  she  always  loved  you." 

She  took  out  of  the  box  a  morsel  of  neatly  folded  white 
paper,  which  had  been  placed  under  the  book  of  Wesley's 
Hymns,  opened  it,  and  showed  her  daughter  a  few  faded 
laburnum  leaves  that  lay  inside.  "I  took  these  from  your 
bed,  Rosamond,  when  I  came,  as  a  stranger,  to  nurse  you  at 
West  Winston.  I  tried  to  take  a  ribbon  out  of  your  trunk, 
love,  after  I  had  taken  the  flowers — a  ribbon  that  I  knew  had 
been  round  your  neck.  But  the  doctor  came  near  at  the 
time,  and  frightened  me." 

She  folded  the  paper  up  again,  laid  it  aside  on  the  table, 
and  drew  from  the  box  next  a  small  print  which  had  been 
taken  from  the  illustrations  to  a  pocket-book.  It  represented 
a  little  girl,  in  gypsy-hat,  sitting  by  the  water-side,- and  weav 
ing  a  daisy  chain.  As  a  design,  it  was  worthless ;  as  a  print, 
it  had  not  even  the  mechanical  merit  of  being  a  good  impres 
sion.  Underneath  it  a  line  was  written  in  faintly  pencilled 
letters — "  Rosamond  when  I  last  saw  her." 

"  It  was  never  pretty  enough  for  you,"  she  said.  "  But 
still  there  was  something  in  it  that  helped  me  to  remember 
what  my  own  love  was  like  when  she  was  a  little  girl." 

She  put  the  engraving  aside  with  the  laburnum  leaves, 
and  took  from  the  box  a  leaf  of  a  copy-book,  folded  in  two, 
out  of  which  there  dropped  a  tiny  strip  of  paper,  covered 
with  small  printed  letters.  She  looked  at  the  strip  of  paper 
first.  "The  advertisement  of  your  marriage,  Rosamond," 
she  said.  "  I  used  to  be  fond  of  reading  it  over  and  over 


344  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

again  to  myself  when  I  was  alone,  and  trying  to  fancy  how 
you  looked  and  what  dress  you  wore.  If  I  had  only  known 
when  you  were  going  to  be  married,  I  would  have  ventured 
into  the  church,  rny  love,  to  look  at  you  and  at  your  husband. 
But  that  was  not  to  be — and  perhaps  it  was  best  so,  for  the 
seeing  you  in  that  stolen  way  might  only  have  made  my 
trials  harder  to  bear  afterward.  I  have  had  no  other  keep 
sake  to  remind  me  of  you,  Rosamond,  except  this  leaf  out  of 
your  first  copy-book.  The  nurse-maid  at  Porthgenna  tore  up 
the  rest  one  day  to  light  the  fire,  and  I  took  this  leaf  when 
she  was  not  looking.  See  !  you  had  not  got  as  far  as  words 
then — you  could  only  do  up-strokes  and  down-strokes.  Oh 
me!  how  many  times  I  have  sat  looking  at  this  one  leaf  of 
paper,  and  trying  to  fancy  that  I  saw  your  small  child's  hand 
traveling  oyer  it,  with  the  pen  held  tight  in  the  rosy  little 
fingers.  I  think  I  have  cried  oftencr,  my  darling,  over  that 
first  copy  of  yours  than  over  all  my  other  keepsakes  put  to 
gether." 

Rosamond  turned  aside  her  face  toward  the  window  to 
hide  the  tears  which  she  could  restrain  no  longer. 

As  she  wiped  them  away,  the  first  sight  of  the  darkening 
sky  warned  her  that  the  twilight  dimness  was  coming  soon. 
How  dull  and  faint  the  glow  in  the  west  looked  now  !  how 
near  it  was  to  the  close  of  day  ! 

When  she  turned  toward  the  bed  again,  her  mother  was 
still  looking  at  the  leaf  of  the  copy-book. 

"That  nurse-maid  who  tore  up  all  the  rest  of  it  to  light 
the  fire,"  she  said,  "  was  a  kind  friend  to  me  in  those  early 
days  at  Porthgenna.  She  used  sometimes  to  let  me  put  you 
to  bed,  Rosamond ;  and  never  asked  questions,  or  teased  me, 
as  the  rest  of  them  did.  She  risked  the  loss  of  her  place  by 
being  so  good  to  me.  My  mistress  was  afraid  of  my  betray 
ing  myself  and  betraying  her  if  I  \vas  much  in  the  nursery, 
and  she  gave  orders  that  I  was  not  to  go  there,  because  it 
was  not  my  place.  None  of  the  other  women-servants  were 
so  often  stopped  from  playing  with  you  and  kissing  you, 
Rosamond,  as  I  was.  But  the  nurse-maid — God  bless  and 
prosper  her  for  it ! — stood  my  friend.  I  often  lifted  you  into 
your  little  cot,  my  love,  and  wished  you  good-night,  when  my 
mistress  thought  I  was  at  work  in  her  room.  Yon  used  to 
say  you  liked  your  nurse  better  than  you  liked  me,  but  you 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  345 

never  told  me  so  fretfully;  and  you  always  put  your  laugh 
ing  lips  up  to  mine  whenever  I  asked  you  for  a  kiss !" 

Rosamond  laid  her  head  gently  on  the  pillow  by  the  side 
of  her  mother's.  "  Try  to  think  less  of  the  past,  dear,  and 
more  of  the  future,"  she  whispered  pleadingly;  "try  to  think 
of  the  time  when  my  child  will  help  you  to  recall  those  old 
days  without  their  sorrow — the  time  when  you  will  teach 
him  to  put  his  lips  up  to  yours,  as  I  used  to  put  mine." 

"  I  will  try,  Rosamond — but  my  only  thoughts  of  the  fut 
ure,  for  years  and  years  past,  have  been  thoughts  of  meeting 
you  in  heaven.  If  my  sins  are  forgiven,  how  shall  we  meet 
there  ?  Shall  you  be  like  my  little  child  to  me — the  child  I 
never  saw  again  after  she  was  five  years  old  ?  I  wonder  if 
the  mercy  of  God  will  recompense  me  for  our  long  separation 
on  earth  ?  I  wonder  if  you  will  first  appear  to  me  in  the 
happy  world  with  your  child's  face,  and  be  what  you  should 
have  been  to  me  on  earth,  my  little  angel  that  I  can  carry 
in  my  arms  ?  If  we  pray  in  heaven,  shall  I  teach  you  your 
prayers  there,  as  some  comfort  to  me  for  never  having  taught 
them  to  you  here  ?" 

She  paused,  smiled  sadly,  and,  closing  her  eyes,  gave  her 
self  in  silence  to  the  dream-thousrhts  that  were  still  floating 

£3  O 

in  her  mind.  Thinking  that  she  might  sink  to  rest  again  if 
she  was  left  undisturbed,  Rosamond  neither  moved  nor  spoke. 
After  watching  the  peaceful  face  for  some  time,  she  became 
conscious  that  the  light  was  fading  on  it  slowly.  As  that 
conviction  impressed  itself  on  her,  she  looked  round  at  the 
window  once  more. 

The  western  clouds  wore  their  quiet  twilight  colors  al 
ready  :  the  close  of  day  had  come. 

The  moment  she  moved  the  chair,  she  felt  her  mother's 
hand  on  her  shoulder.  When  she  turned  again  toward  the 
bed,  she  saw  her  mother's  eyes  open  and  looking  at  her — 
looking  at  her,  as  she  thought,  with  a  change  in  their  expres 
sion,  a  change  to  vacancy. 

"  Why  do  I  talk  of  heaven  ?"  she  said,  turning  her  face 
suddenly  toward  the  darkening  sky,  and  speaking  in  low, 
muttering  tones.  "  How  do  I  know  I  am  fit  to  go  there  ? 
And  yet,  Rosamond,  I  am  not  guilty  of  breaking  my  oath  to 
my  mistress.  You  can  say  for  me  that  I  never  destroyed  the 
letter,  and  that  I  never  took  it  away  with  me  when  I  left  the 


346  THE    DEAD    SEC11ET. 

house.  I  tried  to  get  it  out  of  the  Myrtle  Room ;  but  I 
only  wanted  to  hide  it  somewhere  else.  I  never  thought 
to  take  it  away  from  the  house  :  I  never  meant  to  break  my 
oath." 

"  It  will  be  dark  soon,  mother.  Let  me  get  up  for  one  mo 
ment  to  light  the  candles." 

Her  hand  crept  softly  upward,  and  clung  fast  round  Rosa 
mond's  neck. 

"I  never  swore  to  give  him  the  letter,"  she  said.  "  There 
was  no  crime  in  the  hiding  of  it.  You  found  it  in  a  picture, 
Rosamond  ?  They  used  to  call  it  a  picture  of  the  Porthgen- 
na  ghost.  Nobody  knew  how  old  it  wras,  or  when  it  came 
into  the  house.  My  mistress  hated  it,  because  the  painted 
face  had  a  strange  likeness  to  hers.  She  told  me,  when  first 
I  lived  at  Porthgenna,  to  take  it  down  from  the  wall  and  de 
stroy  it.  I  was  afraid  to  do  that ;  so  I  hid  it  away,  before 
ever  you  were  born,  in  the  Myrtle  Room.  You  found  the 
letter  at  the  back  of  the  picture,  Rosamond  ?  And  yet  that 
was  a  likely  place  to  hide  it  in.  Nobody  had  ever  found  the 
picture.  Why  should  any  body  find  the  letter  that  was  hid 
in  it  ?" 

"  Let  me  get  a  light,  mother  !  I  am  sure  you  would  like 
to  have  a  light !" 

"  No  !  no  light  now.  Give  the  darkness  time  to  gather 
down  there  in  the  corner  of  the  room.  Lift  me  up  close  to 
you,  and  let  me  whisper." 

The  clinging  arm  tightened  its  grasp  as  Rosamond  raised 
her  in  the  bed.  The  fading  light  from  the  window  fell  full 
on  her  face,  and  was  reflected  dimly  in  her  vacant  eyes. 

"  I  am  waiting  for  something  that  comes  at  dusk,  before 
the  candles  are  lit,"  she  whispered  in  low,  breathless  tones. 
"  My  mistress  ! — down  there  !"  And  she  pointed  away  to 
the  farthest  corner  of  the  room  near  the  door. 

"  Mother !  for  God's  sake,  what  is  it !  what  has  changed 
you  so  ?" 

"That's  right !  say  *  mother.'  If  she  does  come,  she  can't 
stop  when  she  hears  you  call  me  { mother,'  when  she  sees  us 
together  at  last,  loving  and  knowing  each  other  in  spite  of 
her.  Oh,  my  kind,  tender,  pitying  child  !  if  you  can  only  de 
liver  me  from  her,  how  long  may  I  live  yet ! — how  happy  we 
may  both  be  !" 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  347 

"  Don't  talk  so  !  don't  look  so  !  Tell  me  quietly — dear, 
dear  mother,  tell  me  quietly — 

"  Hush  !  hush  !  I  am  going  to  tell  you.  She  threatened 
me  on  her  death-bed,  if  I  thwarted  her — she  said  she  would 
come  to  me  from  the  other  world.  Rosamond !  I  have 
thwarted  her  and  she  has  kept  her  promise — all  my  life  since, 
she  has  kept  her  promise  !  Look  !  Down  there  !" 

Her  left  arm.  was  still  clasped  round  Rosamond's  neck. 
She  stretched  her  right  arm  out  toward  the  far  corner  of  the 
room,  and  shook  her  hand  slowly  at  the  empty  air. 

"  Look !"  she  said.  "  There  she  is  as  she  always  comes  to 
me  at  the  close  of  day — with  the  coarse,  black  dress  on,  that 
my  guilty  hands  made  for  her — with  the  smile  that  there  was 
on  her  face  when  she  asked  me  if  she  looked  like  a  servant. 
Mistress  !  mistress  !  Oh,  rest  at  last !  the  Secret  is  ours  no 
longer  !  Rest  at  last  !  my  child  is  my  own  again  !  Rest,  at 
last ;  and  come  between  us  no  more  !" 

She  ceased,  panting  for  breath ;  and  laid  her  hot,  throb 
bing  cheek  against  the  cheek  of  her  daughter.  "  Call  me 
*  mother'  again!"  she  whispered.  "Say  it  loud;  and  send 
her  away  from  me  forever !" 

Rosamond  mastered  the  terror  that  shook  her  in  every 
limb,  and  pronounced  the  word. 

Her  mother  leaned  forward  a  little,  still  gasping  heavily 
for  breath,  and  looked  with  straining  eyes  into  the  quiet  twi 
light  dimness  at  the  lower  end  of  the  room. 

"Gone!!!"  she  cried  suddenly,  with  a  scream  of  exulta 
tion.  "  Oh,  merciful,  merciful  God  !  gone  at  last !" 

The  next  instant  she  sprang  up  on  her  knees  in  the  bed. 
For  one  awful  moment  her  eyes  shone  in  the  gray  twilight 
with  a  radiant,  unearthly  beauty,  as  they- fastened  their  last 
look  of  fondness  on  her  daughter's  face.  "  Oh,  my  love  !  my 
angel !"  she  murmured,  "  how  happy  we  shall  be  together 
now !"  As  she  said  the  words,  she  twined  her  arms  round 
Rosamond's  neck,  and  pressed  her  lips  rapturously  on  the 
lips  of  her  child. 

The  kiss  lingered  till  her  head  sank  forward  gently  on 
Rosamond's  bosom — lingered,  till  the  time  of  God's  mercy 
came,  and  the  weary  heart  rested  at  last. 


348  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 


CHAPTER  V. 

FORTY   THOUSAND   POUNDS. 

No  popular  saying  is  more  commonly  accepted  than  the 
maxim  which  asserts  that  Time  is  the  great  consoler;  and, 
probably,  no  popular  saying  more  imperfectly  expresses  the 
truth.  The  work  that  we  must  do,  the  responsibilities  that 
we  must  undertake,  the  example  that  we  must  set  to  others 
— these  are  the  great  consolers,  for  these  apply  the  first  rem 
edies  to  the  malady  of  grief.  Time  possesses  nothing  but 
the  negative  virtue  of  helping  it  to  wear  itself  out.  Who 
that  has  observed  at  all,  has  not  perceived  that  those  among 
us  who  soonest  recover  from  the  shock  of  a  great  grief  for 
the  dead  are  those  who  have  the  most  duties  to  perform 
toward  the  living?  When  the  shadow  of  calamity  rests  on 
our  houses,  the  question  with  us  is  not  how  much  time  will 
suffice  to  bring  back  the  sunshine  to  us  again,  but  how  much 
occupation  have  wre  got  to  force  us  forward  into  the  place 
where  the  sunshine  is  waiting  for  us  to  come?  Time  may 
claim  many  victories,  but  not  the  victory  over  grief.  The 
great  consolation  for  the  loss  of  the  dead  who  are  gone  is 
to  be  found  in  the  great  necessity  of  thinking  of  the  living 
who  remain. 

The  history  of  Rosamond's  daily  life,  now  that  the  dark 
ness  of  a  heavy  affliction  had  fallen  on  it,  was  in  itself  the 
sufficient  illustration  of  this  truth.  It  was  not  the  slow  lapse 
of  time  that  helped  to  raise  her  up  again,  but  the  necessity 
which  would  not  wait  for  time — the  necessity  which  made 
her  remember  what  was  due  to  the  husband  who  sorrowed 
with  her,  to  the  child  whose  young  life  was  linked  to  hers, 
and  to  the  old  man  whose  helpless  grief  found  no  support 
but  in  the  comfort  she  could  give,  learned  no  lesson  of  resig 
nation  but  from  the  example  she  could  set. 

From  the  first  the  responsibility  of  sustaining  him  had 
rested  on  her  shoulders  alone.  Before  the  close  of  day  had 
been  counted  out  by  the  first  hour  of  the  night,  she  had  been 
torn  from  the  bedside  by  the  necessity  of  meeting  him  at 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  349 

the  door,  and  preparing  him  to  know  that  he  was  entering 
the  chamber  of  death.  To  guide  the  dreadful  truth  gradu 
ally  and  gently,  till  it  stood  face  to  face  with  him,  to  sup 
port  him  under  the  shock  of  recognizing  it,  to  help  his  mind 
to  recover  after  the  inevitable  blow  had  struck  it  at  last — 
these  were  the  sacred  duties  which  claimed  all  the  devotion 
that  Rosamond  had  to  give,  and  which  forbade  her  heart, 
for  his  sake,  to  dwell  selfishly  on  its  own  grief. 

He  looked  like  a  man  whose  faculties  had  been  stunned 
past  recovery.  He  would  sit  for  hours  with  the  musical  box 
by  his  side,  patting  it  absently  from  time  to  time,  and  whis 
pering  to  himself  as  he  looked  at  it,  but  never  attempting  to 
set  it  playing.  It  was  the  one  memorial  left  that  reminded 
him  of  all  the  joys  and  sorrows,  the  simple  family  interests 
and  affections  of  his  past  life.  When  Rosamond  first  sat  by 
his  side  and  took  his  hand  to  comfort  him,  he  looked  back 
ward  and  forward  with  forlorn  eyes  from  her  compassionate 
face  to  the  musical  box,  and  vacantly  repeated  to  himself  the 
same  words  over  and  over  again  :  "  They  are  all  gone — my 
brother  Max,  my  wife,  my  little  Joseph,  my  sister  Agatha, 
and  Sarah,  my  niece !  I  and  my  little  bit  of  box  are  left 
alone  together  in  the  world.  Mozart  can  sing  no  more.  He 
has  sung  to  the  last  of  them  now  !" 

The  second  day  there  was  no  change  in  him.  On  the 
third,  Rosamond  placed  the  book  of  Hymns  reverently  on 
her  mother's  bosom,  laid  a  lock  of  her  own  hair  round  it,  and 
kissed  the  sad,  peaceful  face  for  the  last  time. 

The  old  man  was  with  her  at  that  silent  leave-taking,  and 
followed  her  away  when  it  was  over.  By  the  side  of  the 
coffin,  and  afterward,  when  she  took  him  back  with  her  to 
her  husband,  he  was  still  sunk  in  the  same  apathy  of  grief 
which  had  overwhelmed  him  from  the  first.  But  when  they 
began  to  speak  of  the  removal  of  the  remains  the  next  day 
to  Porthgenna  church-yard,  they  noticed  that  his  dim  eyes 
brightened  suddenly,  and  that  his  wandering  attention  fol 
lowed  every  word  they  said.  After  a  while  he  rose  from  his 
chair,  approached  Rosamond,  and  looked  anxiously  in  her 
face.  "  I  think  I  could  bear  it  better  if  you  would  let  me 
go  with  her,"  he  said.  "  We  two  should  have  gone  back  to 
Cornwall  together,  if  she  had  lived.  Will  you  let  us  still  go 
back  together  now  that  she  has  died  ?" 

Q 


350  THE    DEAD   SECRET. 

Rosamond  gently  remonstrated,  and  tried  to  make  him  sec 
that  it  was  best  to  leave  the  remains  to  be  removed  under 
the  charge  of  her  husband's  servant,  whose  fidelity  could  be 
depended  on,  and  whose  position  made  him  the  fittest  person 
to  be  charged  with  cares  and  responsibilities  which  near  re 
lations  were  not  capable  of  undertaking  with  sufficient  com 
posure.  She  told  him  that  her  husband  intended  to  stop  in 
London,  to  give  her  one  day  of  rest  and  quiet,  which  she  ab 
solutely  needed,  and  that  they  then  proposed  to  return  to 
Cornwall  in  time  to  be  at  Porthgenna  before  the  funeral  took 
place ;  and  she  begged  earnestly  that  he  would  not  think  of 
separating  his  lot  from  theirs  at  a  time  of  trouble  and  trial, 
when  they  ought  to  be  all  three  most  closely  united  by  the 
ties  of  mutual  sympathy  and  mutual  sorrow. 

He  listened  silently  and  submissively  while  Rosamond 
was  speaking,  but  he  only  repeated  his  simple  petition  when 
she  had  done.  The  one  idea  in  his  mind  now  was  the  idea 
of  going  back  to  Cornwall  with  all  that  was  left  on  earth  of 
his  sister's  child.  Leonard  and  Rosamond  both  saw  that  it 
would  be  useless  to  oppose  it,  both  felt  that  it  would  be  cru 
elty  to  keep  him  with  them,  and  kindness  to  let  him  go  away. 
After  privately  charging  the  servant  to  spare  him  all  trouble 
and  difficulty,  to  humor  him  by  acceding  to  any  wishes  that 
he  might  express,  and  to  give  him  all  possible  protection  and 
help  without  obtruding  either  officiously  on  his  attention, 
they  left  him  free  to  follow  the  one  purpose  of  his  heart 
which  still  connected  him  with  the  interests  and  events  of 
the  passing  day.  "  I  shall  thank  you  better  soon,"  he  said 
at  leave-taking,  "for  letting  me  go  away  out  of  this  din  of 
London  with  all  that  is  left  to  me  of  Sarah,  my  niece.  I  will 
dry  up  my  tears  as  well  as  I  can,  and  try  to  have  more  cour 
age  wThen  we  meet  again." 

On  the  next  day,  when  they  were  alone,  Rosamond  and 
her  husband  sought  refuge  from  the  oppression  of  the  pres 
ent  in  speaking  together  of  the  future,  and  of  the  influence 
which  the  change  in  their  fortunes  ought  to  be  allowed  to 
exercise  on  their  plans  and  projects  for  the  time  to  come. 
After  exhausting  this  topic,  the  conversation  turned  next  on 
the  subject  of  their  friends,  and  on  the  necessity  of  communi 
cating  to  some  of  the  oldest  of  their  associates  the  events 
which  had  followed  the  discovery  in  the  Myrtle  Room. 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  351 

The  first  name  on  their  lips  while  they  were  considering 
this  question  was  the  name  of  Doctor  Chennery ;  and  Rosa 
mond,  dreading  the  effect  on  her  spirits  of  allowing  her  mind 
to  remain  unoccupied,  volunteered  to  write  to  the  vicar  at 
once,  referring  briefly  to  what  had  happened  since  they  had 
last  communicated  with  him,  and  asking  him  to  fulfill  that 
year  an  engagement  of  long  standing,  which  he  had  made 
with  her  husband  and  herself,  to  spend  his  autumn  holiday 
with  them  at  Porthgenna  Tower.  Rosamond's  heart  yearned 
for  a  sight  of  her  old  friend ;  and.  she  knew  him  well  enough 
to  be  assured  that  a  hint  at  the  affliction  which  had  befallen 
her,  and  at  the  hard  trial  which  she  had  undergone,  would 
be  more  than  enough  to  bring  them  together  the  moment 
Doctor  Chennery  could  make  his  arrangements  for  leaving 
home. 

The  writing  of  this  letter  suggested  recollections  which 
called  to  mind  another  friend,  whose  intimacy  with  Leonard 
and  Rosamond  was  of  recent  date,  but  whose  connection 
with  the  earlier  among  the  train  of  circumstances  which  had 
led  to  the  discovery  of  the  Secret  entitled  him  to  a  certain 
share  in  their  confidence.  This  friend  was  Mr.  Orridge,  the 
doctor  at  West  Winston,  who  had  accidentally  been  the 
means  of  bringing  Rosamond's  mother  to  her  bedside.  To 
him  she  now  wrote,  acknowledging  the  promise  which  she 
had  made  on  leaving  West  Winston  to  communicate  the  re 
sult  of  their  search  for  the  Myrtle  Room  ;  and  informing  him 
that  it  had  terminated  in  the  discovery  of  some  very  sad 
events,  of  a  family  nature,  which  were  now  numbered  with 
the  events  of  the  past.  More  than  this  it  was  not  necessary 
to  say  to  a  friend  who  occupied  such  a  position  toward  them 
as  that  held  by  Mr.  Orridge. 

Rosamond  had  written  the  address  of  this  second  letter, 
and  was  absently  drawing  lines  on  the  blotting-paper  with 
her  pen,  when  she  was  startled  by  hearing  a  contention  of 
angry  voices  in  the  passage  outside.  Almost  before  she  had 
time  to  wonder  what  the  noise  meant,  the  door  was  violent 
ly  pushed  open,  and  a  tall,  shabbily  dressed,  elderly  man, 
with  a  peevish,  haggard  face,  and  a  ragged  gray  beard, 
stalked  in,  followed  indignantly  by  the  head  waiter  of  the 
hotel. 

"  I  have  three  times  told  this  person,"  began  the  waiter, 

Q 


352  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

with  a  strong  emphasis  on  the  word  "  person,"  "  that  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Frankland— " 

"  Were  not  at  home,"  broke  in  the  shabbily  dressed  man, 
finishing  the  sentence  for  the  waiter.  "Yes,  you  told  me 
that ;  and  I  told  you  that  the  gift  of  speech  was  only  used 
by  mankind  for  the  purpose  of  telling  lies,  and  that  conse 
quently  I  didn't  believe  you.  You  have  told  a  lie.  Here  are 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frankland  both  at  home.  I  come  on  business, 
and  I  mean  to  have  five  minutes'  talk  with  them.  I  sit  down 
unasked,  and  I  announce  my  own  name — Andrew  Treverton." 

With  those  words,  he  took  his  seat  coolly  on  the  nearest 
chair.  Leonard's  cheeks  reddened  with  anger  while  he  was 
speaking,  but  Rosamond  interposed  before  her  husband  could 
say  a  word. 

"  It  is  useless,  love,  to  be  angry  with  him,"  she  whispered. 
"  The  quiet  way  is  the  best  way  with  a  man  like  that."  She 
made  a  sign  to  the  waiter,  which  gave  him  permission  to 
leave  the  room — then  turned  to  Mr.  Treverton.  "  You  have 
forced  your  presence  on  us,  Sir,"  she  said  quietly,  "  at  a  time 
when  a  very  sad  affliction  makes  us  quite  unfit  for  conten 
tions  of  any  kind.  We  are  willing  to  show  more  considera 
tion  for  your  age  than  you  have  shown  for  our  grief.  If  you 
have  any  thing  to  say  to  my  husband,  he  is  ready  to  control 
himself  and  to  hear  you  quietly,  for  my  sake." 

"And  I  shall  be  short  with  him  and  with  you,  for  my  own 
sake,"  rejoined  Mr.  Treverton.  "  No  woman  has  ever  yet  had 
the  chance  of  sharpening  her  tongue  long  on  me,  or  ever  shall. 
I  have  come  here  to  say  three  things.  First,  your  lawyer  has 
told  me  all  about  the  discovery  in  the  Myrtle  Room,  and  how 
you  made  it.  Secondly,  I  have  got  your  money.  Thirdly,  I 
mean  to  keep  it.  What  do  you  think  of  that?" 

"I  think  you  need  not  give  yourself  the  trouble  of  remain 
ing  in  the  room  any  longer,  if  your  only  object  in  coming 
here  is  to  tell  us  what  we  know  already,"  replied  Leonard. 
"  We  know  you  have  got  the  money ;  and  we  never  doubted 
that  you  meant  to  keep  it." 

"  You  are  quite  sure  of  that,  I  suppose  ?"  said  Mr.  Trever 
ton.  "Quite  sure  you  have  no  lingering  hope  that  any  future 
twists  and  turns  of  the  law  will  take  the  money  out  of  my 
pocket  again  and  put  it  back  into  yours  ?  It  is  only  fair  to 
tell  you  that  there  is  not  the  shadow  of  a  chance  of  any  such 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  353 

thing  ever  happening,  or  of  my  ever  turning  generous  and 
rewarding  you  of  my  own  accord  for  the  sacrifice  you  have 
made.  I  have  been  to  Doctors'  Commons,  I  have  taken  out  a 
grant  of  administration,  I  have  got  the  money  legally,  I  have 
lodged  it  safe  at  my  banker's,  and  I  have  never  had  one  kind 
feeling  in  my  heart  since  I  was  born.  That  was  my  brother's 
character  of  me,  and  he  knew  more  of  my  disposition,  of 
course,  than  any  one  else.  Once  again,  I  tell  you  both,  not  a 
farthing  of  all  that  large  fortune  will  ever  return  to  either 
of  you." 

"  And  once  again  I  tell  you"  said  Leonard,  "  that  we  have 
no  desire  to  hear  what  we  know  already.  It  is  a  relief  to  my 
conscience  and  to  my  wife's  to  have  resigned  a  fortune  which 
we  had  no  right  to  possess ;  and  I  speak  for  her  as  well  as 
for  myself  when  I  tell  you  that  your  attempt  to  attach  an  in 
terested  motive  to  our  renunciation  of  that  money  is  an  in 
sult  to  us  both  which  you  ought  to  have  been  ashamed  to 
offer." 

"  That  is  your  opinion,  is  it  ?"  said  Mr.  Treverton.  "  You, 
who  have  lost  the  money,  speak  to  me,  who  have  got  it,  in 
that  manner,  do  you  ? — Pray,  do  you  approve  of  your  hus 
band's  treating  a  rich  man  who  might  make  both  your  for 
tunes  in  that  way?"  he  inquired,  addressing  himself  sharply 
to  Rosamond. 

"  Most  assuredly  I  approve  of  it,"  she  answered.  "  I  never 
agreed  with  him  more  heartily  in  my  life  than  I  agree  with 
him  now." 

"Oh!"  said  Mr.  Treverton.  "Then  it  seems  you  care  no 
more  for  the  loss  of  the  money  than  he  does  ?" 

"  He  has  told  you  already,"  said  Rosamond,  "  that  it  is  as 
great  a  relief  to  my  conscience  as  to  his,  to  have  given  it 
up." 

Mr.  Treverton  carefully  placed  a  thick  stick  which  he  car 
ried  with  him  upright  between  his  knees,  crossed  his  hands 
on  the  top  of  it,  rested  his  chin  on  them,  and,  in  that  inves 
tigating  position,  stared  steadily  in  Rosamond's  face. 

"  I  rather  wish  I  had  brought  Shrowl  here  with  me,"  he 
said  to  himself.  "I  should  like  him  to  have  seen  this.  It 
staggers  me,  and  I  rather  think  it  would  have  staggered  him. 
Both  these  people,"  continued  Mr.  Treverton,  looking  per 
plexedly  from  Rosamond  to  Leonard,  and  from  Leonard  back 


354  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

again  to  Rosamond,  "  arc,  to  all  outward  appearance,  human 
beings.  They  walk  on  their  hind  legs,  they  express  ideas 
readily  by  uttering  articulate  sounds,  they  have  the  usual  al 
lowance  of  features,  and  in  respect  of  weight,  height,  and  size, 
they  appear  to  me  to  be  mere  average  human  creatures  of 
the  regular  civilized  sort.  And  yet,  there  they  sit,  taking 
the  loss  of  a  fortune  of  forty  thousand  pounds  as  easily  as 
Crcesus,  King  of  Lydia,  might  have  taken  the  loss  of  a  half 
penny  !" 

He  rose,  put  on  his  hat,  tucked  the  thick  stick  under  his 
arm,  and  advanced  a  few  steps  toward  Rosamond. 

"  I  am  going  now,"  he  said.  "  Would  you  like  to  shake 
hands?" 

Rosamond  turned  her  back  on  him  contemptuously. 

Mr.  Treverton  chuckled  with  an  air  of  supreme  satisfac 
tion. 

Meanwhile  Leonard,  who  sat  near  the  fire-place,  and  whose 
color  was  rising  angrily  once  more,  had  been  feeling  for  the 
bell-rope,  and  had  just  succeeded  in  getting  it  into  his  hand 
as  Mr.  Treverton  approached  the  door. 

"Don't  ring,  Lenny,"  said  Rosamond.  "He  is  going  of 
his  own  accord." 

Mr.  Treverton  stepped  out  into  the  passage — then  glanced 
back  into  the  room  with  an  expression  of  puzzled  curiosity 
on  his  face,  as  if  he  was  looking  into  a  cage  which  contained 
two  animals  of  a  species  that  he  had  never  heard  of  before. 
"I  have  seen  some  strange  sights  in  my  time,"  he  said  to 
himself.  "  I  have  had  some  queer  experience  of  this  trump 
ery  little  planet,  and  of  the  creatures  who  inhabit  it — but  I 
never  was  staggered  yet  by  any  human  phenomenon  as  I  am 
staggered  now  by  those  two."  He  shut  the  door  without 
saying  another  word,  and  Rosamond  heard  him  chuckle  to 
himself  again  as  he  walked  away  along  the  passage. 

Ten  minutes  afterward  the  waiter  brought  up  a  sealed  let 
ter  addressed  to  Mrs.  Frankland.  It  had  been  written,  he 
said,  in  the  coffee-room,  of  the  hotel  by  the  "person"  who 
had  intruded  himself  into  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Frankland's  presence. 
After  giving  it  to  the  waiter  to  deliver,  he  had  gone  away  in 
a  hurry,  swinging  his  thick  stick  complacently,  and  laughing 
to  himself. 

Rosamond  opened  the  letter. 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  355 

On  one  side  of  it  was  a  crossed  check,  drawn  in  her  name, 
for  Forty  Thousand  Pounds. 

On  the  other  side  were  these  lines  of  explanation : 

"Take  your  money  back  again.  First,  because  you  and 
your  husband  are  the  only  two  people  I  have  ever  met  with 
who  are  not  likely  to  be  made  rascals  by  being  made  rich. 
Secondly,  because  you  have  told  the  truth,  when  letting  it 
out  meant  losing  money,  and  keeping  it  in,  saving  aTortune. 
Thirdly,  because  you  are  not  the  child  of  the  player-woman. 
Fourthly,  because  you  can't  help  yourself — for  I  shall  leave 
it  to  you  at  my  death,  if  you  won't  have  it  now.  Good-by. 
Don't  come  and  see  me,  don't  write  grateful  letters  to  me, 
don't  invite  me  into  the  country,  don't  praise  my  generosity, 
and,  above  all  things,  don't  have  any  thing  more  to  do  with 
Shrowl.  ANDREW  TREVERTON." 

The  first  thing  Rosamond  did,  when  she  and  her  husband 
had  a  little  recovered  from  their  astonishment,  was  to  dis 
obey  the  injunction  which  forbade  her  to  address  any  grate 
ful  letters  to  Mr.  Treverton.  The  messenger,  who  was  sent 
with  her  note  to  Bayswater,  returned  without  an  answer, 
and  reported  that  he  had  received  directions  from  an  invisi 
ble  man,  with  a  gruff  voice,  to  throw  it  over  the  garden  wall, 
and  to  go  away  immediately  after,  unless  he  wanted  to  have 
his  head  broken. 

Mr.  Nixon,  to  whom  Leonard  immediately  sent  word  of 
what  had  happened,  volunteered  to  go  to  Bayswater  the  same 
evening,  and  make  an  attempt  to  see  Mr.  Treverton  on  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Frankland's  behalf.  He  found  Tirnon  of  London 
more  approachable  than  he  had  anticipated.  The  misan 
thrope  was,  for  once  in  his  life,  in  a  good  humor.  This  ex 
traordinary  change  in  him  had  been  produced  by  the  sense 
of  satisfaction  which  he  experienced  in  having  just  turned 
Shrowl  out  of  his  situation,  on  the  ground  that  his  master 
was  not  fit  company  for  him  after  having  committed  such 
an  act  of  folly  as  giving  Mrs.  Frankland  back  her  forty  thou 
sand  pounds. 

"  I  told  him,"  said  Mr.  Treverton,  chuckling  over  his  recol 
lection  of  the  parting  scene  between  his  servant  and  himself 
— "  I  told  him  that  I  could  not  possibly  expect  to  merit  his 


35G  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

continued  approval  after  what  I  had  done,  and  that  I  could 
not  think  of  detaining  him  in  his  place  under  the  circum 
stances.  I  begged  him  to  view  my  conduct  as  leniently  as 
he  could,  because  the  first  cause  that  led  to  it  was,  after  all, 
his  copying  the  plan  of  Porthgenna,  which  guided  Mrs.  Frank- 
land  to  the  discovery  in  the  Myrtle  Room.  I  congratulated 
him  on  having  got  a  reward  of  five  pounds  for  being  the 
means  of  restoring  a  fortune  of  forty  thousand ;  and  I  bow 
ed  him  out  with  a  polite  humility  that  half  drove  him  mad. 
Shrowl  and  I  have  had  a  good  many  tussles  in  our  time ;  he 
was  always  even  with  me  till  to-day,  and  now  I've  thrown 
him  on  his  back  at  last !" 

Although  Mr.  Treverton  was  willing  to  talk  of  the  defeat 
and  dismissal  of  Shrowl  as  long  as  the  lawyer  would  listen  to 
him,  he  was  perfectly  unmanageable  on  the  subject  of  Mrs. 
Frankland,  when  Mr.  Nixon  tried  to  turn  the  conversation  to 
that  topic.  He  would  hear  no  messages — he  would  give  no 
promise  of  any  sort  for  the  future.  All  that  he  could  be  pre 
vailed  on  to  say  about  himself  and  his  own  projects  was  that 
he  intended  to  give  up  the  house  at  Bayswater,  and  to  travel 
again  for  the  purpose  of  studying  human  nature,  in  different 
countries,  on  a  plan  that  he  had  not  tried  yet  —  the  plan  of 
endeavoring  to  find  out  the  good  that  there  might  be  in  peo 
ple  as  well  as  the  bad.  He  said  the  idea  had  been  suggest 
ed  to  his  mind  by  his  anxiety  to  ascertain  whether  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Frankland  were  perfectly  exceptional  human  beings  or 
not.  At  present,  he  was  disposed  to  think  that  they  were, 
and  that  his  travels  were  not  likely  to  lead  to  any  thing  at 
all  remarkable  in  the  shape  of  a  satisfactory  result.  Mr. 
Nixon  pleaded  hard  for  something  in  the  shape  of  a  friendly 
message  to  take  back,  along  with  the  news  of  his  intended 
departure.  The  request  produced  nothing  but  a  sardonic 
chuckle,  followed  by  this  parting  speech,  delivered  to  the 
lawyer  at  the  garden  gate. 

"Tell  those  two  superhuman  people,"  said  Timon  of  Lon 
don,  "  that  I  may  give  up  my  travels  in  disgust  W7hen  they 
least  expect  it ;  and  that  I  may  possibly  come  back  to  look 
at  them  again — I  don't  personally  care  about  cither  of  them 
— but  I  should  like  to  get  one  satisfactory  sensation  more 
out  of  the  lamentable  spectacle  of  humanity  before  I  die." 


THE    DEAD   SECRET.  357 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    DAWN    OF    A   NEW   LIFE. 

FOUR  days  afterward,  Rosamond  and  Leonard  and  Uncle 
Joseph  met  together  in  the  cemetery  of  the  church  of  Porth- 
genna. 

The  earth  to  which  we  all  return  had  closed  over  Her:  the 
weary  pilgrimage  of  Sarah  Leeson  had  come  to  its  quiet  end 
at  last.  The  miner's  grave  from  which  she  had  twice  plucked 
in  secret  her  few  memorial  fragments  of  grass  had  given  her 
the  home,  in  death,  which,  in  life,  she  had  never  known.  The 
roar  of  the  surf  was  stilled  to  a  low  murmur  before  it  reached 
the  place  of  her  rest ;  and  the  wind  that  swept  joyously  over 
the  open  moor  paused  a  little  when  it  met  the  old  trees  that 
watched  over  the  graves,  and  wound  onward  softly  through 
the  myrtle  hedge  which  held  them  all  embraced  alike  in  its 
circle  of  lustrous  green. 

Some  hours  had  passed  since  the  last  words  of  the  burial 
service  had  been  read.  The  fresh  turf  was  heaped  already 
over  the  mound,  and  the  old  head-stone  with  the  miner's 
epitaph  on  it  had  been  raised  once  more  in  its  former  place 
at  the  head  of  the  grave.  Rosamond  was  reading  the  in 
scription  softly  to  her  husband.  Uncle  Joseph  had  walked 
a  little  apart  from  them  while  she  was  thus  engaged,  and  had 
knelt  down  by  himself  at  the  foot  of  the  mound.  He  was 
fondly  smoothing  and  patting  the  newly  laid  turf — as  he  had 
often  smoothed  Sarah's  hair  in  the  long -past  days  of  her 
youth — as  he  had  often  patted  her  hand  in  the  after-time, 
when  her  heart  was  weary  and  her  hair  was  gray. 

"  Shall  we  add  any  new  words  to  the  old,  worn  letters  as 
they  stand  now  ?"  said  Rosamond,  when  she  had  read  the 
inscription  to  the  end.  "There  is  a  blank  space  left  on  the 
stone.  Shall  we  fill  it,  love,  with  the  initials  of  my  mother's 
name,  and  the  date  of  her  death  ?  I  feel  something  in  my 
heart  which  seems  to  tell  me  to  do  that,  and  to  do  no  more." 

"  So  let  it  be,  Rosamond,"  said  her  husband.  "  That  short 
and  simple  inscription  is  the  fittest  and  the  best." 

Q2 


358  THE    DEAD    SECRET. 

She  looked  away,  as  he  gave  that  answer,  to  the  foot  of  the 
grave,  and  left  him  for  a  moment  to  approach  the  old  man. 
"  Take  my  hand,  Uncle  Joseph,"  she  said,  and  touched  him 
gently  on  the  shoulder.  "  Take  my  hand,  and  let  us  go  back 
together  to  the  house." 

He  rose  as  she  spoke,  and  looked  at  her  doubtfully.  The 
musical  box,  inclosed  in  its  well-worn  leather  case,  lay  on 
the  grave  near  the  place  where  he  had  been  kneeling.  Rosa 
mond  took  it  up  from  the  grass,  and  slung  it  in  the  old  place 
at  his  side,  which  it  had  always  occupied  when  he  was  away 
from  home.  He  sighed  a  little  as  he  thanked  her.  "Mozart 
can  sing  no  more,"  he  said.  "He  has  sung  to  the  last  of 
them  now !" 

"Don't  say  'to  the  last,'  yet,"  said  Rosamond — "don't  say 
'  to  the  last,'  Uncle  Joseph,  while  I  am  alive.  Surely  Mozart 
will  sing  to  me,  for  my  mother's  sake  ?" 

A  smile — the  first  she  had  seen  since  the  time  of  their  grief 
— trembled  faintly  round  his  lips.  "There  is  comfort  in 
that,"  he  said ;  "  there  is  comfort  for  Uncle  Joseph  still,  in 
hearing  that." 

"  Take  my  hand,"  she  repeated  softly.  "  Come  home  with 
us  now." 

He  looked  down  wistfully  at  the  grave.  "I  will  follow 
you,"  he  said,  "if  you  will  go  on  before  me  to  the  gate." 

Rosamond  took  her  husband's  arm,  and  guided  him  to  the 
path  that  led  out  of  the  church-yard.  As  they  passed  from 
sight,  Uncle  Joseph  knelt  down  once  more  at  the  foot  of  the 
grave,  and  pressed  his  lips  on  the  fresh  turf. 

"  Good-by,  my  child,"  he  whispered,  and  laid  his  cheek  for 
a  moment  against  the  grass  before  he  rose  again. 

At  the  gate,  Rosamond  was  waiting  for  him.  Her  right 
hand  was  resting  on  her  husband's  arm ;  her  left  hand  was 
held  out  for  Uncle  Joseph  to  take. 

"  How  cool  the  breeze  is !"  said  Leonard.  "  How  pleasant 
ly  the  sea  sounds  !  Surely  this  is  a  fine  summer  day  ?" 

"  The  calmest  and  loveliest  of  the  year,"  said  Rosamond. 
"  The  only  clouds  on  the  sky  are  clouds  of  shining  white ; 
the  only  shadows  over  the  moor  lie  light  as  down  on  the 
heather.  Oh,  Lenny,  it  is  such  a  different  day  from  that  day 
of  dull  oppression  and  misty  heat  when  we  found  the  letter 
in  the  Myrtle  Room  !  Even  the  dark  tower  of  our  old  house, 


THE    DEAD    SECRET.  359 

yonder,  looks  its  brightest  and  best,  as  if  it  waited  to  wel 
come  us  to  the  beginning  of  a  new  life.  I  will  make  it  a 
happy  life  to  you,  and  to  Uncle  Joseph,  if  I  can — happy  as 
the  sunshine  we  are  walking  in  now.  You  shall  never  re 
pent,  love,  if  I  can  help  it,  that  you  have  married  a  wife  who 
has  no  claim  of  her  own  to  the  honors  of  a  family  name." 

"I  can  never  repent  my  marriage,  Rosamond,  because  I 
can  never  forget  the  lesson  that  my  wife  has  taught  me." 

"  What  lesson,  Lenny  ?" 

"  An  old  one,  my  dear,  which  some  of  us  can  never  learn 
too  often.  The  highest  honors,  Rosamond,  are  those  which 
no  accident  can  take  away — the  honors  that  are  conferred 
by  LOVE  and  TRUTH." 


THE  END. 


WILKIE  COLLINS'S  NOVELS. 


HARPER'S 
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In  view  of  the  visit  of  Mr.  WILKIE  COLLINS  to  this  country, 
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One  volume  will  be  issued  each  month  until  the  completion  of  the 
series.  The  convenient  size  of  the  volumes  will  commend  this 
tasteful  edition  to  the  favor  of  American  readers,  among  whom  the 
author  of  "  No  Name,"  "  The  Woman  in  White,"  "  Man  and  Wife," 
and  "  The  New  Magdalen,"  is  no  less  widely  known  than  among 
his  own  countrymen. 

Wilkie  Collins  has  no  living  superior  in  the  art  of  constructing  a 
story.  Others  may  equal  if  not  surpass  him  in  the  delineation  of 
character,  or  in  the  use  of  a  story  for  the  development  of  social  the 
ories,  or  for  the  redress  of  a  wrong  against  humanity  and  civiliza 
tion  ;  but  in  his  own  domain  he  stands  alone,  without  a  rival.  *  *  * 
He  holds  that  "  the  main  element  in  the  attraction  of  all  stories  is 
the  interest  of  curiosity  and  the  excitement  of  surprise."  Other 
writers  had  discovered  this  before  Collins ;  but,  recognizing  the 
clumsiness  of  the  contrivances  in  use  by  inferior  authors,  he  essays, 
by  artistic  and  conscientious  use  of  the  same  materials  and  similar 
devices,  to  captivate  his  readers. — N.  Y.  Evening  Post. 

We  can  not  call  to  mind  any  novelist  or  romancer  of  past  times 
whose  constructive  powers  fairly  can  be  placed  above  his.  He  is  a 
literary  artist,  and  a  great  one  too,  and  he  always  takes  his  readers 
with  him. — Boston  Traveller. 


Wilkie  Collinses  Novels. 


Of  all  the  living  writers  of  English  fiction,  no  one  better  under 
stands  the  art  of  story-telling  than  Wilkie  Collins.  He  has  a  faculty 
of  coloring  the  mystery  of  a  plot,  exciting  terror,  pity,  curiosity,  and 
other  passions,  such  as  belongs  to  few  if  any  of  his  confreres,  however 
much  they  may  excel  him  in  other  respects.  His  style,  too,  is  singu 
larly  appropriate — less  forced  and  artificial  than  the  average  mod 
ern  novelist. — Boston  Transcript. 


THE  NEW  MAGDALEN. 

BASIL. 

HIDE-AND-SEEK. 

NO  NAME. 

THE  DEAD  SECRET. 


POOR  MISS  FINCH. 

ARMADALE. 

MAN  AND  WIFE. 

THE  MOONSTONE. 

THE  WOMAN  IN  WHITE. 


QUEEN  OF  HEARTS. 


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and  of  the  Origin  and  Destruction  of  the  Spanish  Armada.  By  JOHN 
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NAPOLEON'S  LIFE  OF  CAESAR.  The  History  of  Julius  Caesar.  By  Hig 
late  Imperial  Majesty  NAPOLEON  III.  Two  Volumes  ready.  Library  Edi 
tion,  Svo,  Cloth,  $3  50  per  vol. 

HAYDN'S  DICTIONARY  OF  DATES,  relating  to  all  Ages  and  Nations. 
For  Universal  Reference.  Edited  by  BENJAMIN  VINOENT,  Assistant  Secre 
tary  and  Keeper  of  the  Library  of  the  Royal  Institution  of  Great  Britain  ; 
and  Revised  for  the  Use  of  American  Readers.  Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00 ;  Sheep, 
$6  00. 

MACGREGOR'S  ROB  ROY  ON  THE  JORDAN.  The  Rob  Roy  on  the 
Jordan,  Nile,  Red  Sea,  and  Gennesareth,  &c.  A  Canoe  Cruise  in  Pales 
tine  and  Egypt,  and  the  Waters  of  Damascus.  By  J.  MAOGREQOII,  M.A. 
With  Maps  and  Illustrations.  Crown  8vo,  Cloth,  $3  60. 


Harper  &>  Brothers'  Valuable  and  Interesting  Works.  3 

WALLACE'S  MALAY  ARCHIPELAGO.  The  Malay  Archipelago:  the 
Land  of  the  Orang-Utan  and  the  Bird  of  Paradise.  A  Narrative  of  Trav 
el,  1854-1SG2.  With  Studies  of  Man  and  Nature.  By  ALFRED  RUSSEL 
WAJ.T.ACK.  With  Ten  Maps  and  Fifty-one  Elegant  Illustrations.  Crown 
8vo,  Cloth,  $2  50. 

WIIYMPER'S  ALASKA.  Travel  and  Adventure  in  the  Territory  of  Alas 
ka,  formerly  Russian  America — now  Ceded  to  the  United  States— and  in 
various  other  parts  of  the  North  Pacific.  By  FBEUEBIOK  WIIVMI'EB. 
With  Map  and  Illustrations.  Crown  8vo,  Cloth,  $2  50. 

ORTON'S  ANDES  AND  THE  AMAZON.  The  Andes  and  the  Amazon ;  or, 
Across  the  Continent  of  South  America.  By  JAMKS  OKTON,  M.A.,  Pro 
fessor  of  Natural  History  in  Vas»ar  College,  Poughkeepsie,  N.  Y.,  and 
Corresponding  Member  of  the  Academy  of  Natural  Sciences,  Philadel 
phia.  With  a  New  Map  of  Equatorial  America  and  numerous  Illustra 
tions.  Crown  Svo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

WINCHELL'S  SKETCHES  OF  CREATION.  Sketches  of  Creation:  a 
Popular  View  of  some  of  the  Grand  Conclusions  of  the  Sciences  in  ref 
erence  to  the  History  of  Matter  and  of  Life.  Together  with  a  Statement 
of  the  Intimations  of  Science  respecting  the  Primordial  Condition  and 
the  Ultimate  Destiny  of  the  Earth  and  the  Solar  System.  By  AI.EXAN- 
J>ER  WINCIIELI.,  LL.1X,  Chancellor  of  the  Syracuse  University.  With 
Illustrations.  12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

WHITE'S  MASSACRE  OF  ST.  BARTHOLOMEW.  The  Massacre  of  St. 
Bartholomew :  Preceded  by  a  History  of  the  Religious  Wars  in  the  Reign 
of  Charles  IX.  By  UENBY  WHITE,  M.  A.  With  Illustrations.  Svo,  Cloth, 
$1  75. 

LOSSING'S  FIELD-BOOK  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  Pictorial  Field-Book 
of  the  Revolution  ;  or,  Illustrations,  by  Pen  and  Pencil,  of  the  History, 
Biography,  Scenery,  Relics,  and  Traditions  of  the  War  for  Independ 
ence.  By  BKNSON  J.  LOBSINO.  2  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $14  00 ;  Sheep,  $15  00 ; 
Half  Calf,  $13  00;  Full  Turkey  Morocco,  $22  00. 

LOSSING'S  FIELD-BOOK  OF  THE  WAR  OF  1S12.  Pictorial  Field-Book 
of  the  War  of  1812;  or,  Illustrations,  by  Pen  and  Pencil,  of  the  History, 
Biography,  Scenery,  Relics,  and  Traditions  of  the  Last  War  for  Ameri 
can' Independence.  By  BENSON  J.  LOSSING.  With  several  hundred  En 
gravings  on  Wood,  by  Lossing  and  Barritt,  chiefly  from  Original  Sketch 
es  by  the  Author.  1088  pages,  Svo,  Cloth,  $700;  Sheep,  $3  50;  Half 
Calf,  $10  00. 

ALFORD'S  GREEK  TESTAMENT.  The  Greek  Testament :  with  a  crit 
ically  revised  Text ;  n  Digest  of  Various  Readings  ;  Marginal  References 
to  Verbal  and  Idiomatic  Usage  ;  Prolegomena  ;  and  a  Critical  and  Exe- 
getical  Commentary.  For  the  Use  of  Theological  Students  and  Minis 
ters.  By  HKNBV  AI.FOBP,  D.D.,  Dean  of  Canterbury.  Vol.  I.,  contain 
ing  the  Four  Gospels.  944  pages,  Svo,  Cloth,  $G  00 ;  Sheep,  $6  50. 

ABBOTT'S  FREDERICK  THE  GREAT.  The  History  of  Frederick  the 
Second,  called  Frederick  the  Great.  By  JOHN  S.  C.  ABBOTT.  Ele<rautly 
Illustrated.  Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

ABBOTT'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  FRENCH  REVOLUTION.  The  French 
Revolution  of  17S9,  as  viewed  in  the  Light  of  Republican  Institutions. 
By  JOHN  S.  C.  ABBOTT.  With  100  Engravings.  Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

ABBOTT'S  NAPOLEON  BONAPARTE.  The  History  of  Napoleon  Bona 
parte.  By  JOHN  S.  C.  ABBOTT.  With  Maps,  Woodcuts,  and  Portraits  ou 
Steel.  2  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $10  00. 

ABBOTT'S  NAPOLEON  AT  ST.  HELENA;  or,  Interesting  Anecdotes  and 
Remarkable  Conversations  of  the  Emperor  during  the  Five  and  a  Half 
Years  of  his  Captivity.  Collected  from  the  Memorials  of  Las  Casas, 
O'Meara,  Montholou,  Antommarchi,  and  others.  By  JOHN  S.  C.  ABBOTT. 
With  Illustrations.  Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

ADDISON'S  COMPLETE  WORKS.  The  Works  of  Joseph  Addison,  em 
bracing  the  whole  of  the  "Spectator."  Complete  in  3  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth. 

$600. 


4          Harper  &°  Brothers'  Valuable  and  Interesting  Works. 

ALCOCK'S  JAPAN.  The  Capital  of  the  Tycoon :  a  Narrative  of  a  Three 
Years'  Residence  in  Japan.  By  Sir  RUTHERFORD  ALCOCK,  K.C.B.,  Her 
Majesty's  Envoy  Extraordinary  and  Minister  Plenipotentiary  in  Japan. 
With  Maps  and  Engravings.  2  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $3  50. 

ALISON'S  HISTORY  OF  EUROPE.  FIRST  SERIES  :  From  the  Commence 
ment  of  the  French  Revolution,  in  17S9,  to  the  Restoration  of  the  Bour 
bons,  in  1815.  [In  addition  to  the  Notes  on  Chapter  LXXVL,  which  cor 
rect  the  errors  of  the  original  work  concerning  the  United  States,  a  copi 
ous  Analytical  Index  has  been  appended  to  this  American  Edition.] 
SECOND  SEIUES:  From  the  Fall  of  Napoleon,  in  1S15,  to  the  Accession  of 
Louis  Napoleon,  in  1S52.  8  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $1G  00. 

EARTH'S  NORTH  AND  CENTRAL  AFRICA.  Travels  and  Discoveries  in 
North  and  Central  Africa :  being  a  Journal  of  an  Expedition  undertaken 
under  the  Auspices  of  H.B.M.'s  Government,  in  the  Years  1S49-1S55.  By 
HENRY  BARTII,  Ph.D.,  D.C.L.  Illustrated.  3  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $12  00. 

HENRY  WARD  BEECHER'S  SERMONS.  Sermons  by  HENRY  WART> 
BEECIIKU,  Plymouth  Church,  Brooklyn.  Selected  from  Published  and 
Unpublished  Discourses,  and  Revised  by  their  Author.  With  Steel  Por 
trait.  Complete  in  2  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

LYMAN  BEECHER'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY,  &o.  Autobiography,  Corres 
pondence,  &c.,  of  Lyman  Beecher,  D.D.  Edited  by  his  Son,  CHARLES 
BEECH ER.  With  Three  Steel  Portraits,  and  Engravings  on  Wood.  In  2 
vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

BOSWELL'S  JOHNSON.  The  Life  of  Samuel  Johnson,  LL.D.  Including 
a  Journey  to  the  Hebrides.  By  JAMES  BOSWELL,  Esq.  A  New  Edition, 
with  numerous  Additions  and  Notes.  By  JOHN  WILSON  CEOKER,  LL.D., 
F.R.S.  Portrait  of  Boswell.  2  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $4  00. 

DRAPER'S  CIVIL  WAR.  History  of  the  American  Civil  War.  By  JOHN 
W.  DRAPER,  M.D.,  LL.D.,  Professor  of  Chemistry  and  Physiology  in  the 
University  of  New  York.  In  Three  Vols.  Svo,  Cloth,  $3  50  per  vol. 

DRAPER'S  INTELLECTUAL  DEVELOPMENT  OF  EUROPE.  A  Histo 
ry  of  the  Intellectual  Development  of  Europe.  By  JOHN  W.  DRAPKR, 
M.D.,  LL.D.,  Professor  of  Chemistry  and  Physiology  in  the  University 
of  New  York.  Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

DRAPER'S  AMERICAN  CIVIL  POLICY.  Thoughts  on  the  Future  Civil 
Policy  of  America.  By  JOHN  W.  DUAT-ER,  M.D.,  LL.D.,  Professor  of 
Chemistry  and  Physiology  in  the  University  of  New  York.  Crown  Svo, 
Cloth,  $2  50. 

DU  CHAILLU'S  AFRICA.  Explorations  and  Adventures  in  Equatorial  Af 
rica,  with  Accounts  of  the  Manners  and  Customs  of  the  People,  and  of 
the  Chase  of  the  Gorilla,  the  Crocodile,  Leopard,  Elephant,  Hippopota 
mus,  and  other  Animals.  By  PAUL  B.  Du  CUAILLU.  Numerous  Illus 
trations.  Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

DU  CHAILLU'S  ASHANGO  LAND.  A  Journey  to  Ashango  Land:  and 
Further  Penetration  into  Equatorial  Africa.  By  PAUL  B.  Du  CUAILLU. 
New  Edition.  Handsomely  Illustrated.  Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

BELLOWS'S  OLD  WORLD.  The  Old  World  in  its  New  Face :  Impressions 
of  Europe  in  1S67-1SG8.  By  HENRY  W.  BELLOWS.  2  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth, 
$350. 

BRODHEAD'S  HISTORY  OF  NEW  YORK.  History  of  the  State  of  New 
York.  By  JOHN  ROMEYN  BRODUEAD.  1609^1091.  2  vols.  Svo,  Cloth, 
$3  00  per  vol. 

BROUGHAM'S  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  Life  and  Times  of  HENRY,  LORD 
BROUGHAM.  Written  by  Himself.  In  Three  Volumes.  12mo,  Cloth, 
$2  00  per  vol. 

BULWER'S  PROSE  WORKS.  Miscellaneous  Prose  Works  of  Edward  Bui- 
wer,  Lord  Lyttou.  2  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $3  50. 


Harper  <5^  Brothers'  Valuable  and  Interesting  Works.          5 

BULWEK'S  HORACE.  The  Odes  and  Epodes  of  Horace.  A  Metrical 
Translation  into  English.  With  Introduction  and  Commentaries.  By 
LORD  LYTTON.  With  Latin  Text  from  the  Editions  of  Orelli,  Macleaue, 
and  Yonge.  12mo,  Cloth,  $1  75. 

BULWER'S  KING  ARTHUR,  A  Poem.  By  LORD  LYTTON.  New  Edition. 
l'2mo,  Cloth,  $1  75. 

BURNS'S  LIFE  AND  WORKS.  The  Life  and  Works  of  Robert  Burns. 
Edited  by  ROBERT  CHAMBERS.  4  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $0  00. 

REINDEER,  DOGS,  AND  SNOW-SHOES.  A  Journal  of  Siberian  Travel 
and  Explorations  made  in  the  Years  1S05-'07.  By  RICHARD  J.  BUSH,  late 
of  the  Russo-American  Telegraph. Expedition.  Illustrated.  Crown  8vo, 
Cloth,  $3  00. 

CARLYLE'S  FREDERICK  THE  GREAT.  History  of  Friedrich  II.,  called 
Frederick  the  Great.  By  THOMAS  CABLYLE.  Portraits,  Maps,  Plans, 
&c.  0  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $12  00. 

CARLYLE'S  FRENCH  REVOLUTION.  History  of  the  French  Revolution. 
2  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $3  50. 

CARLYLE'S  OLIVER  CROMWELL.  Letters  and  Speeches  of  Oliver 
Cromwell.  \Vith  Elucidations  and  Connecting  Narrative.  2  volt?.,  12mo, 
Cloth,  $3  50. 

CHALMERS'S  POSTHUMOUS  WORKS.  The  Posthumous  Works  of  Dr. 
Chalmers.  Edited  by  his  Son-in-Law,  Rev.  WILLIAM  HANNA,  LL.D. 
Complete  in  9  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $13  50. 

COLERIDGE'S  COMPLETE  WORKS.  The  Complete  Works  of  Samuel 
Taylor  Coleridge.  With  an  Introductory  Essay  upon  his  Philosophical 
and  Theological  Opinions.  Edited  by  Professor  SHEDD.  Complete  in 
Seven  Vols.  With  a  Portrait.  Small  Svo,  Cloth,  $10  50. 

DOOLITTLE'S  CHINA.  Social  Life  of  the  Chinese :  with  some  Account  of 
their  Religious,  Governmental,  Educational,  and  Business  Customs  and 
Opinions.  With  special  but  not  exclusive  Reference  to  Fuhchan.  By 
Rev.  JUSTUS  DOOLITTLE,  Fourteen  Years  Member  of  the  Fuhchau  Mis 
sion  of  the  American  Board.  Illustrated  with  more  that  150  character 
istic  Engravings  on  Wood.  2  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

GIBBON'S  ROME.  History  of  the  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire. 
By  EDWARD  GIBBON.  With  Notes  by  Rev.  H.  II.  MILMAN  and  M.  GUIZOT. 
A  new  cheap  Edition.  To  which  is  added  a  complete  Index  of  the  whole 
Work,  and  a  Portrait  of  the  Author.  6  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $9  00. 

HAZEN'S  SCHOOL  AND  ARMY  IN  GERMANY  AND  FRANCE.    The 

School  and  the  Army  in  Germany  and  France,  with  a  Diary  of  Sie^e 
Life  at  Versailles.  By  Brevet  Major-General  W.  B.  HAZEN,  U.S.A.,  Col 
onel  Sixth  Infantry.  Crown  Svo,  Cloth,  $2  50. 

HARPER'S  NEW  CLASSICAL  LIBRARY.    Literal  Translations. 
The  following  Vols.  are  now  ready.    12mo,  Cloth,  $1  50  each. 
C<ESAR. — VIRGIL. — SALLTTST. — HOBACK. — CICF.EO'S  ORATIONS. — CICERO'S 

OFFICES,  &c.— CICERO  ON  ORATORY  AND  ORATORS.— TACITUS  (2  vols.). 

— TERENCE. — SOPHOCLES. — JUVENAL. — XENOPHON. — HOMER'S  ILIAD. — 

HOMER'S  ODYSSEY.  —  HERODOTUS.  — DEMOSTHENES.  — THCCYDIDEB.  — 

AESCHYLUS. — EUBIPIDES  (2  vols.). — LIVY  (2  vols.). 

DA  VIS'S  CARTHAGE.  Carthage  and  her  Remains:  being  nn  Account  of 
the  Excavations  and  Researches  on  the  Site  of  the  Phoenician  Metropo 
lis  in  Africa  and  other  adjacent  Places.  Conducted  under  the  Auspices 
of  Her  Majesty's  Government.  By  Dr.  DAVIS,  F.R.G.S.  Profusely  Illus 
trated  with  Maps,  Woodcuts,  Chromo-Lithographs,  &c.  Svo,  Cloth, 
$4  00. 

EDGEWORTH'S  (Miss)  NOVELS.  With  Engravings.  10  vols.,  12mo, 
Cloth,  $15  00. 

GROTE'S  HISTORY  OF  GREECE.    12  vol?.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $1S  00, 


6         Harper  &•*  Brothers'  Valuable  and  Interesting  Works, 

IIELPS'S  SPANISH  CONQUEST.  The  Spanish  Conquest  In  America,  and 
its  Relation  to  the  History  of  Slavery  and  to  the  Government  of  Colonies. 
By  ABTUUB  HELPS.  4  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $6  00. 

BALE'S  (MRS.)  WOMAN'S  RECORD.  Woman's  Record  ;  or,  Biographical 
Sketches  of  all  Distinguished  Women,  from  the  Creation  to  the  Present 
Time.  Arranged  ill  Four  Eras,  with  Selections  from  Female  Writers  of 
Each  Era.  By  Mrs.  SARAU  JOSEPUA  HALE.  Illustrated  with  more  than 
200  Portraits.  Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

HALL'S  ARCTIC  RESEARCHES.  Arctic  Researches  and  Life  among  the 
Esquimaux :  being  the  Narrative  of  an  Expedition  in  Search  of  Sir  John 
Franklin,  in  the  Years  1SOO,  1861,  and  1802.  By  CHARLES  FRANCIS  HALL. 
With  Maps  and  100  Illustrations.  The  Illustrations  are  from  the  Origi 
nal  Drawings  by  Charles  Parsons,  Henry  L.  Stephens,  Solomon  Eytinge, 
W.  S.  L.  Jewett,  and  Granville  Perkins,  after  Sketches  by  Captain  Hall. 
Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

HALLAM'S  CONSTITUTIONAL  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND,  from  the  Ac- 
cession  of  Henry  VII.  to  the  Death  of  George  II.  Svo,  Clotn,  $2  00. 

HALLAM'S  LITERATURE.  Introduction  to  the  Literature  of  Europe  dur 
ing  the  Fifteenth,  Sixteenth,  and  Seventeenth  Centuries.  By  II  EN  ICY 
HALLAM.  2  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $4  00. 

HALLAM'S  MIDDLE  AGES.  State  of  Europe  during  the  Middle  A^es, 
By  HENRY  HALLAM.  Svo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

HILDRETH'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  UNITED  STATES.  FIRST  SKUIEB: 
From  the  First  Settlement  of  the  Country  to  the  Adoption  of  the  Federal 
Constitution.  SECOND  SERIK.S  :  From  the  Adoption  of  the  Federal  Con 
stitution  to  the  End  of  the  Sixteenth  Congress.  6  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth, 
$18  00. 

HUME'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  History  of  England,  from  the  Inva 
sion  of  Julius  Cwsar  to  the  Abdication  of  James  II.,  16SS.  By  DAVID 
HUME.  A  new  Edition,  with  the  Author's  last  Corrections  and  Improve 
ments.  To  which  is  Prefixed  a  short  Account  of  his  Life,  written  by 
Himself.  With  a  Portrait  of  the  Author.  C  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $9  00. 

JAY'S  WORKS.  Complete  Works  of  Rev.  William  Jay :  comprising  his 
Sermons,  Family  Discourses,  Morning  and  Evening  Exercises  for  every 
Day  in  the  Year,  Family  Prayers,  &c.  Author's  enlarged  Edition,  re 
vised.  3  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $6  00. 

JEFFERSON'S  DOMESTIC  LIFE.  The  Domestic  Life  of  Thomas  Jeffer 
son:  compiled  from  Family  Letters  and  Reminiscences,  by  his  Great- 
Granddaughter,  SARAH  N.  RANDOLPH.  With  Illustrations.  Crown  Svo, 
Illuminated  Cloth,  Beveled  Edges,  $2  50. 

JOHNSON'S  COMPLETE  WORKS.  The  Works  of  Samuel  Johnson,  LL.D. 
With  an  Essay  on  his  Life  and  Genius,  by  ABTUUB  MUBPHY,  Esq.  Por 
trait  of  Johnson.  2  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $4  00. 

KINGLAKE'S  CRIMEAN  WAR.  The  Invasion  of  the  Crimea,  and  an  Ac 
count  of  its  Progress  down  to  the  Death  of  Lord  Raglan.  By  ALEXAN 
DER  WILLIAM  KINGLAKE.  With  Maps  and  Plans.  Two  Vols.  ready. 
12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00  per  vol. 

KINGSLEY'S  WEST  INDIES.  At  Last :  A  Christmas  in  the  West  Indies. 
By  CHARLES  KINGSLEY.  Illustrated.  12mo,  Cloth,  $1  50. 

KRUMMACHER'S  DAVID,  KING  OF  ISRAEL.  David,  the  King  of  Isra 
el  :  a  Portrait  drawn  from  Bible  History  and  the  Book  of  Psalms.  By 
FiiKDERiCK  WILLIAM  KRTTMMAOHER,  D.D.,  Author  of  "Elijah  the  Tish- 
bite,"  &c.  Translated  under  the  express  Sanction  of  the  Author  by  the 
Rev.  M.  G.  EASTON,  M.A.  With  a  Letter  from  Dr.  Krummacher  to  his 
American  Readers,  and  a  Portrait.  12mo,  Cloth,  $1  75. 

LAMB'S  COMPLETE  WORKS,  The  Works  of  Charles  Lamb.  Compris 
ing  his  Letters,  Poems,  Essays  of  Elia,  Essays  upon  Shakspeare,  Ho 
garth,  &c.,  and  a  Sketch  of  his  Life,  with  the  Final  Memorials,  by  T.  Noon 
TALFOUEP,  Portrait,  2  vols.,  12rao,  Cloth,  $3  00. 


Harper  &°  Brothers*  Valuable  and  Interesting  Works.          7 

LIVINGSTONE'S  SOUTH  AFRICA.  Missionary  Travels  and  Researches 
in  South  Africa ;  including  a  Sketch  of  Sixteen  Years'  Residence  in  the 
Interior  of  Africa,  and  a  Journey  from  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope  to  Loan- 
do  on  the  West  Coast;  thence  across  the  Continent,  down  the  River 
Zambesi,  to  the  Eastern  Ocean.  By  DAVID  LIVINGSTONE,  LL.D.,  D.C.L. 
With  Portrait,  Maps  by  Arruwsmith,  and  numerous  Illustrations.  8vo, 
Cloth,  $4  50. 

LIVINGSTONES'  ZAMBESI.  Narrative  of  an  Expedition  to  the  Zambesi 
and  its  Tributaries,  and  of  the  Discovery  of  the  Lakes  Shirwa  and  Ny- 
assa.  1S5S-1SG4.  By  DAVII>  and  CUAKI.KS  LIVINGSTONE.  With  Map  and 
Illustrations.  8vo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

M'CLINTOCK  &  STRONG'S  CYCLOP/EDIA.  Cyclopaedia  of  Biblical, 
Theological,  and  Ecclesiastical  Literature.  Prepared  by  the  Rev.  JOHN 
M'Ci.iNTOOK,  D.D.,  and  JAMES  STKONQ,  S.T.D.  5  w/s.  now  read//.  Royal 
Svo,  Price  per  vol.,  Cloth,  $5  00;  Sheep,  $G  00;  Half  Morocco,  $8  00. 

MARCY'S  ARMY  LIFE  ON  THE  BORDER.  Thirty  Years  of  Army  Life 
on  the  Border.  Comprising  descriptions  of  the  Indian  Nomads  of  the 
Plains  ;  Explorations  of  New  Territory ;  a  Trip  across  the  Rocky  Mount 
ains  in  the  Winter;  Descriptions  of  the  Habits  of  Different  Animals 
found  in  the  West,  and  the  Methods  of  Hunting  them;  with  Incidents 
in  the  Life  of  Different  Frontier  Men,  &c  ,  &c.  By  Brevet  Brigadier- 
General  K.  B.  MAUOV,  U.S.A.,  Author  of  "The  Prairie  Traveller."  With 
numerous  Illustrations.  Svo,  Cloth,  Beveled  Edges,  $3  00. 

MACAULAY'S  HISTORY  OF  ENGLAND.  The  History  of  England  from 
the  Accession  of  James  II.  By  THOMAS  BAUINCJTON  MACAOI.AY.  With 
an  Original  Portrait  of  the  Author.  5  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $10  00;  12mo, 
Cloth,  $7  50. 

MOSHEIM'S  ECCLESIASTICAL  HISTORY,  Ancient  and  Modern;  in 
which  the  Rise,  Progress,  and  Variation  of  Church  Power  are  considered 
in  their  Connection  with  the  State  of  Learning  and  Philosophy,  and  the 
Political  History  of  Europe  during  that  Period".  Translated,  wilh  Notes, 
«fcc..  by  A.  MACLAINE,  D.D.  A  new  Edition,  continued  to  1820,  by  C. 
COOTK,  LL.D.  2  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $4  00. 


THE  DESERT  OF  THE  EXODUS.  Journeys  on  Foot  in  the  Wilderness 
of  the  Forty  Years'  Wanderings;  undertaken  in  connection  with  the 
Ordnance  Survey  of  Sinai  and  the  Palestine  Exploration  Fund.  By  E. 
II.  PALMER,  M.A.,  Lord  Almoner's  Professor  of  Arabic,  and  Fellow  of 
St.  John's  College,  Cambridge.  With  Maps  and  numerous  Illustrations 
from  Photographs  and  Drawings  taken  on  the  spot  by  the  Sinai  Survey 
Expedition  and  C.  F.  Tyrwhitt  Drake.  Crown  s>vo,  Cloth,  $3  00. 

OLIPHANT'S  CHINA  AND  JAPAN.  Narrative  of  the  Earl  of  Elgin's  Mis- 
eion  to  China  and  Japan,  in  the  Years  1S5T,  '58,  '59.  By  LAURENCE  Or.t- 
FHANT,  Private  Secretary  to  Lord  Elgin.  Illustrations.  Svo,  Cloth,  $3  50. 

OLIPHANT'S  (Mns.)  LIFE  OF  EDWARD  IRVING.  The  Life  of  Edward 
Irving,  Minister  of  the  National  Scotch  Church,  London.  Illustrated  by 
his  Journals  and  Correspondence.  By  Mrs.  OLIPUANT.  Portrait.  Svo, 
Cloth,  $3  50. 

RAWLINSON'S  MANUAL  OF  ANCIENT  HISTORY.  A  Manual  of  An- 
cient  History,  from  the  Earliest  Times  to  the  Fall  of  the  Western  Empire. 
Comprising  the  History  of  Chaldtea,  Assyria,  Media,  Babylonia,  Lydia, 
Phoenicia,  Syria,  Judaea,  Egypt,  Carthage,  Persia,  Greece,  Macedonia, 
Parthia,  and  Rome.  By  GKORGK  RAWMNSON,  M.A.,  Camden  Professor 
of  Ancient  History  in  the  University  of  Oxford.  12mo,  Cloth,  $2  50. 

RECLUS'S  THE  EARTH.  The  Earth:  A  Descriptive  History  of  the  Phe 
nomena  and  Life  of  the  Globe.  By  ELIS^E  RK.CLUB.  Translated  by  the 
late  B.  B.  Woodward,  and  Edited  by  Henry  Woodward.  With  234  Maps 
and  Illustrations  and  23  Page  Maps  printed  in  Colors.  Svo,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

HECLUS'S  OCEAN.  The  Ocean,  Atmosphere,  and  Life.  Being  the  Second 
Series  of  a  Descriptive  History  of  the  Life  of  the  Globe.  By  E"LIS£K  RE- 
oi.us.  Profusely  Illustrated  with  250  Maps  or  Figures,  and  27  Maps 
printed  in  Colors.  Svo,  Cloth,  $6  00. 


8          Harper  &*  Brothers'  Valuable  and  Interesting  Works. 

SHAKSPEARE.  The  Dramatic  Works  of  William  Shakspeare,  with  the 
Corrections  and  Illustrations  of  Dr.  JOHNSON,  G.  STEVENS,  and  others. 
Kevised  by  ISAAC  KEEI>.  Engravings.  6  vols,  lioyal  12ino,  Cloth,  $9  00. 
2  vols.,  Svo,  Cloth,  $4  00. 

SMILES'S  LIFE  OF  THE  STEPHENSONS.  The  Life  of  George  Stephen- 
eon,  and  of  his  Son,  Robert  Stephenson  ;  comprising,  also,  a  History  of 
the  Invention  and  Introduction  of  the  Railway  Locomotive.  By  SAMUKI, 
SMILES,  Author  of  "  Self-Help,"  &c.  With  Steel  Portraits  and  numerous 
Illustrations.  Svo,  Cloth,  $3  00. 

SMILES'S  HISTORY  OF  THE  HUGUENOTS.  The  Huguenots:  their  Set 
tlements,  Churches,  and  Industries  in  England  and  Ireland.  By  SAMCKL 
SMILES.  With  nu  Appendix  relating  to  the  Huguenots  in  America. 
Crown  Svo,  Cloth,  $1  75. 

SPEKE'S  AFRICA.  Journal  of  the  Discovery  of  the  Source  of  the  Nile. 
By  Captain  JOHN  HANMNG  SPKKK,  Captain  H.M.  Indian  Army,  Fellow 
and  Gold  Medalist  of  the  Royal  Geographical  Society,  Hon.  Correspond 
ing  Member  and  Gold  Medalist  of  the  French  Geographical  Society,  &c. 
With  Maps  and  Portraits  and  numerous  Illustrations,  chiefly  from  Draw 
ings  by  Captain  GRANT.  8vo,  Cloth,  uniform  with  Livingstone,  Burth, 
Burton,  &c.,  $4  00. 

STRICKLAND'S  (Miss)  QUEENS  OF  SCOTLAND.  Lives  of  the  Queens  of 
Scotland  and  English  Princesses  connected  with  the  Regal  Succession 
of  Great  Britain.  Py  AGNES  STRICKLAND.  8  vols.,  12mo,  Cloth,  $12  00. 

THE  STUDENT'S  SERIES. 

France.    Engravings.     12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

Gibbon.     Engravings.     12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

Greece.    Engravings.    12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

Hume.     Engravings.     12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

Rome.     By  Liddell.     Engravings.    12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

Old  Testament  History.    Engravings.    12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

New  Testament  History.     Engravings,  12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

Strickland's  Queens  of  England.    Abridged.    Eng's.    12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

Ancient  History  of  the  East.  12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

Hallam's  Middle  Ages.    12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

Hallam's  Constitutional  History  of  England.    12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

Lyell's  Elements  of  Geology.     12mo,  Cloth,  $2  00. 

TENNYSON'S  COMPLETE  POEMS.  The  Complete  Poems  of  Alfred  Ten 
nyson,  Poet  Laureate.  With  numerous  Illustrations  by  Eminent  Artists, 
and  Three  Characteristic  Portraits.  Svo,  Paper,  75  cents  ;  Cloth,  $1  25. 

THOMSON'S  LAND  AND  THE  BOOK.  The  Land  and  the  Book;  or,  Bib 
lical  Illustrations  drawn  from  the  Manners  and  Customs,  the  Scenes 
and  the  Scenery  of  the  Holy  Land.  By  W.  M.  THOMSON,  D.D.,  Twenty- 
five  Years  a  Missionary  of  the  A.B.C.F.M.  in  Syria  and  Palestine.  With 
two  elaborate  Maps  of  Palestine,  an  accurate  Plan  of  Jerusalem,  and 
several  hundred  Engravings,  representing  the  Scenery,  Topography,  and 
Productions  of  the  Holy  Land,  and  the  Costumes,  Manners,  and  Habits 
of  the  People.  2  large 'l2mo  vols.,  Cloth,  $5  00. 

TYERMAN'S  W'ESLEY.  The  Life  and  Times  of  the  Rev.  John  Wesley, 
M.A.,  Founder  of  the  Methodists.  By  the  Rev.  LUKE  TVKRMAN.  Por 
traits.  3  vols.,  Crown  Svo,  Cloth,  $7  50. 

TYERMAN'S  OXFORD  METHODISTS.  The  Oxford  Methodists :  Memoirs 
of  the  Rev.  Messrs.  Clayton,  Ingham,  Gambold,  Hervey,  and  Broughton, 
with  Biographical  Notices  of  others.  By  the  Rev.  L.  TYERMAN.  With 
Portraits.  Crown  Svo,  Cloth,  $2  50. 

VAMBE~RY'S  CENTRAL  ASIA.  Travels  in  Central  Asia.  Being  the  Ac 
count  of  a  Journey  from  Teheren  across  the  Turkoman  Desert,  on  the 
Eastern  Shore  of  the  Caspian,  to  Khiva,  Bokhara,  and  Samarcand,  per 
formed  in  the  Year  1SG3.  By  AHMINIUS  VAMBEKY,  Member  of  the  Hun 
garian  Academy  of  Pesth,  by  whom  he  was  sent  on  this  Scientific  Mis 
sion.  WTith  Map  and  Woodcuts.  Svo,  Cloth,  $4  50. 

WOOD'S  HOMES  WITHOUT  HANDS.  Homes  Without  Hands:  being  n 
Description  of  the  Habitations  of  Animals,  classed  according  to  their 
Principle  of  Construction.  By  J.  G.  WOOD,  M.A.,  F.L.S.  With  about 
140  Illustrations.  Svo,  Cloth,  Beveled  Edges,  $4  50. 


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